Gotta Love those Fine Men in Blue!

Officer “Pork, the Other White Meat,” Goodwin

A few months ago, I was making a mad dash with the kids to Main Street in Keene to sell off some old Backstreet Boys (I know, I know) CDs at the local pawn shop. I figured the ten cents per CD might buy us a few Dollar Menu double cheeseburgers before my son’s football banquet. Worth a shot, right?
Anyway, it was around 4:30 – it was 4:19 to be precise – when I pulled a U Turn on Main Street. I’d never been to this particular pawn shop before and I avoid the traffic loving Main Street as often as humanly possible. But on this afternoon, out of work early, and with a plan to make a small fortune on the 100s of CDs and DVDs piled into boxes in the Jeep, the kids and I were feeling brave. I happily pulled the U Turn when I spotted the pawn shop and – holy shit! in Keene? and on Main Street? – a parking spot.
My initial bliss turned to that dreaded feeling in the pit of my stomach when I saw the blue lights of a cruiser from my rearview mirror. Well, that’s no biggie. I wasn’t speeding. I must have a light out or something. Wait. Is it even dark enough for lights? I quickly checked my inspection sticker. Yep. All good. I wonder what he wants. “Jake! Do you have your seatbelt on?” “Yeah, Ma.” Check.
No sooner had I run my mental list of “Are you sure it’s me you are pulling over, officer?” when I was looking into the eyes of a very pissy Officer (Pork Chop, Bacon Breath, Bacon Bits) Goodwin. “License and registration, ma’am.” I didn’t argue, and handed him my documentation with a happy smile. I knew there had to be a mistake. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Officer Goodwin went to his cruiser to check on the lengthy criminal record I was more than positive he would not find. He was gone a full twenty minutes, making a traffic back up on Main Street during what was becoming the end of the day rush hour. I kept my head low, hoping none of my co workers saw me and wondering what was taking him so long.
Main Street was getting crowded quickly. I’d forgotten that at 4:20 p.m. every day, the local college students, former vets, cancer patients, hippies, and well – just about everyone without a job in town, and even many with jobs – crowd the street holding signs for the legalization of marijuana. This movement had started a few weeks ago and participants had vowed to bring their pro-pot signs (and in some cases, paraphernalia and joints themselves) to the center of town. The would not stop, they insisted, until pot was legal in the Granite State. I was watching these people march up and down Main Street with their signs – thinking back to my own pot smoking days – and wondering if my kids understood what was going on.
Lost in thought, I was startled when Bacon Breath tapped on my window. He promptly handed me a ticket for $72 for pulling an illegal U Turn. I was baffled. There was no sign preventing a U Turn. I told him so, in a polite, God I hate former hall monitors with short man’s syndrome sort of way. He smirked, and pointed to the back of what he claimed to be a no U Turn sign.
Now, Bacon Breath could have cared less that I could not actually SEE the sign, because the only sign in front of me was one that said 4:2o Friendly! being held by a man in ripped jeans and a heavy flannel jacket. I wondered how long our neighborhood hippie had been standing there, blocking the sign from any one’s view. I tried to point this out to Pork Chop. He wasn’t impressed. Apparently, drivers on Main Street in Keene are expected to have X-ray vision and see THROUGH cardboard rally signs to the traffic signs they block.
You see, the rules in Keene are different from the rules in other places. Not only are you supposed to have X-ray vision, but, it’s more important to catch wild mothers on a pawn shop selling mission than it is to stop the people smoking weed in public on public streets at 4:20 in the afternoon.
Now, I’m not sure if I am for the legalization of marijuana or not. I frankly, don’t care! But what I am for is fairness here! The fact is that I could not see the sign because of a protester on the street. I don’t care whether that person was protesting pot laws or the war: It’s the police department’s duty to make sure that there is order and that drivers are safe and can navigate the roads safely regardless of who is protesting what. It’s also their job to uphold the law.
The law is that pot is illegal. Yet, it’s ok for hundreds of people to gather on public land and smoke it. But it’s not ok for me – with no criminal record and only one speeding ticket on the books (which I was totally guilty of) – to make an honest error?
I’m thinking Pork Chop (like many cops I know) was too afraid to deal with the real issue at hand that day and felt it better (and easier) to pick on the little lady with the smile than it was to deal with the potheads. It was, after all the end of the month and he had his quota to make.
But it gets even BETTER ladies and gents!
A week later, I’m sitting in my house late at night (we’re talking 11:30 here). Everything is quiet and the only people up are my oldest son and I. We’re watching a movie in the living room. I’m falling asleep (nothing new, I can’t ever seem to stay awake for movies). Suddenly, my 12-year-old SCREAMS, “MOM! WAKE UP! THERE’S SOMEONE SHINING FLASHLIGHTS INTO OUR WINDOWS!”
I about shit myself.
There’s nothing like being the primary weapon for your family’s safety and protection. You know you’re a wimp. You’re more than aware that your martial arts skills consist of twirling the chopsticks when you eat sushi. And best of all? The “man” you’ve been raising is already making a bee-line for the other room. Yep, you’re on your own here, Mom.
Sleep in my eyes, I reach for the phone – ready to call the fine men in blue (whom, for some reason, I STILL believe in). That’s when the flashlight shines directly into the glass panel on the front door. I freeze. Squinting from around the corner and fumbling for the 9 button on my phone, I see the glint of a badge. I look closer. Yep, it’s a police officer. Wow! Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Bacon Breath after all (cursing his name to everyone in town who’d listen). Maybe they saw a burglar, rapist, murderer shining flashlights into unsuspecting women’s homes and is here to rescue us. WAKE UP, MOM! You’re not thinking straight!
Of course, it’s the darn cop who’s doing the shining in the first place! Duh! I stumble toward the door. “Yes, officer, can I help you?” He verifies my name and tells me it is imperative I call the Keene Police Department this very moment. I’m horrified. “Why? What’s this about? Did something happen? Is everything ok?” He responds that he knows nothing (shocker) except that I need to call them immediately. He gives me their non emergency number.
Pork Chop answers the phone. I tell him who I am, entirely not placing the name with our recent run in on Main Street (after all, I’ve already filled out the back of the ticket – marked it not guilty – and have sent it out for a court date). Pork Chop tells me that he made an error on the ticket he sent me. Instead of a $72 fine, it’s a $74 fine.
WELL, THANK YOU OFFICER! Thank you for scaring the shit out of me. Thank you for protecting our streets from druggies. Thank you for disrupting my home in the middle of the night and waking my children and pets. And, most of all, THANK YOU for telling me I have to pay another $2 for something that wasn’t even my fault in the first place! Justice has been served! You must feel fucking proud!
I virtually hang up with him.
Three days later, I receive a new (corrected) ticket in the mail. But Bacon Bits is so sloppy that he forgets to make a copy of both sides of this new ticket, making it impossible for me to even have the option of entering a not guilty plea. I throw it in a file (the one I will take to court with me) and curse his name for the remainder of the week.
This is a man who has NOTHING better to do than harass ordinary, law abiding people. This is a man who ENJOYS torturing people. This is a man who doesn’t get laid. Or, if he does, he HAS to be on top.
I am excited about my April court date. I am anxious to tell the judge about Bacon Bit’s fine attention to detail and his uncanny ability to make quotas at any cost. While the City of Keene is stoned, no one there need fear the wild U Turn avoiding good citizens headed to the pawn shop for quick cash.
I made $12 at the thrift shop that day. In the end, I’ll probably lose more than $60. But you can bet your bippy that we’ll be eating Pork Roast that night in April, win or lose, in tribute to the hard work and fine service of officer Goodwin!
If you’re ever on Main Street in Keene and you see a woman standing in front of a U Turn sigh with a poster reading “Honk for Hogs!” and smoking a crack pipe with an unregistered gun tied to her hip and threatening passersby for no apparent reason (hey, laws don’t apply in Keene unless they are traffic laws!) be sure to say hello! But whatever you do, don’t make a U Turn!

Unnamed Spirits

Four Spirits, Two Stars
By Erin L George

It was spectacular really
how they¹d send a spirit skipping
through murky paths of alternate choice
and meaning
and consummate the love of twinkling stars
destined for stardom on a cosmic stage
(they didn¹t believe in God)
and worshiped false gods
no more horrendous than He to steal
slurping skips of spirit.

They are spectacular really
how they¹d dance to beats unheard
through murmurs caught on love strikes
and heat
and validate the love of twinkling stars
falling in the mirror
(they did believe in love)
and cherished pixie dust
no more magical than He to know
cooing memories of their spirit.

You'd Come

You'd Come
You'd come to me, miles over more
and i'd smile
to catch a moment's whisper of your scent
locked, somewhere, in wind chimes
tickled by the pines
you'd come to me, blind and free
and i'd play the violin
your sway matching that of the tide
between sand drifts and snowfall
you'd scar tears upon my cheeks
and i'd wonder where you came from
how you blew in on peppered air
you'd come to me.

Tuesdays with Erin

Tuesday Morning Sprite
By Erin L. George

She bore an angel
on a Tuesday morning
in September
between cold cries,
scattered sheets,
she pledged
to teach
to soar
sacrifice
for angel
wide white wings
above
a darkened sky.

She combed those wings
mending broken feathers
when little boys at school
spit on him,
cursed his name,
dressing him
in cotton band aides
glued in angel kisses
on a wounded ego
and banged up knee.

She worked two jobs -
a grocery store,
mom and pop,
and spent weekends
selling tomatoes
to lift
her seraph
to a stronger nest
made of sturdy sticks
from a walnut tree
where he learned to read
and told her his dream
of flying.

She soared
to glimpse him fly
upon come back
in a private jet
he’d rented
to take her out
on her birthday
on a Tuesday
in June
above a rainy sky
and blanket clouds
past the school he’d cussed
beyond band aides
and an angel’s wink.

She watched a demon
end his life
on a Tuesday morning
in September
as he used his wings
to take flight
through a sunny sky
feathers all in tact
ending her dream
of an angel’s flight
above
a darkened sky.

Train Girl & The Wolves

Train Girl and the Wolves

Wolves howl
and she
turns her head -
knowing of their spots
and the moles that lie
between shoulder blades,
sore,
or not.

He howls when she
gets him off
collared in panties
white, stained in the crotch -
she chuckles
wolves have that effect
(particularly those so proud of their dens).

He barks back at a full moon,
one that rose the night she slept with chocolate
pillow mints
and the grin of a brindle
too skinny
for her liking.

The way he barks,
twisted in an evil snare -
he chuckles when she groans
and she knows he’ll lift his leg
watching from the mirror
winking back inside.

He’d howl at a prairie dog,
so long to catch a buzz
some wolves grow up with snouts
a tad too long
and she’ll look away
pretending not to notice.

Wolves, howling
under a moon
tight to pizza tray
she sighs - how many pieces would he dare to eat?
Some wolves are thick on greed
and who is she
to be his prey?

He’d have the nerve to tell her how to spit
she likes it
thick,
from barrels in her neck
and she laughs -
howling back, coyote girl
pissing on his grin
(no need for her go back).

He whimpers,
tail tucked between the thighs
she wishes on a shining star to view of his delight
(it’s the baby wolves who make her shake
her head in guilt and lies).

He has no reason to whimper
but does
she shakes her chestnut mop -
too late to take a ride with her
(he’d be better off
with wolves who squander rations)
wasting time.

And he likes her vines,
soaked of birthright due
she wonders how he howls -
“Do you have friends now on the side?”
It’s always odd to get up without goodbye.

Where wolves howl -
under starry skies.

The Rose

The Rose
By Erin L George

it bleeds into concrete
settling there as gentle men watch the evening news
she waddles down the driveway
off to fetch the mail -
bills are due on Saturdays

and you'll tell me that i scream too loud, begging you
tell me:
what kind of dog would run from a bitch, crying out in heat?

wolves howel, pissing on their territory
it bleeds down her leg
still warm now from his thrust -
she grins, waving at the soccer moms
walking dogs down Parkway Ave
nibbling on her fingers

she'll tell you that you look just fine, tempting you
tell her:
what kind of soldier kneels before his enemy?

strong men stride, marching toward their call
bleeding all the same
they'd rather bite their tongues off
than be caught shivering -
they grin, nodding at the higher ups
shuffling off to dine
shoveling down mystery meat

you tell me it's funny, taunting me
tell me:
what kind of women have you fucked?

vixens drink of rivers, swimming in their lust
prickle of a thorn
they arch their backs to take it all inside
tiring easily -
they grin, wiping away laugh lines
soaked in Maybelline
twisting salty nipples

as it bleeds there in the concrete
napping on a summer's day
careful not to overlook the breeze of passing traffic
and those too busy to notice.

The Gift

The Gift
By Erin L George

Somewhere
between the sparkle in his eyes
others don't see
and the crevice of his brow
lies an innocence
born guilty
pleasures he chose ignore
others don't see
but should
had they not worn blindfolds
had he never clothed

babies are born naked
spanked by a doctor's hand
others don't see
the smile in the eyes
of the baby boy
who squirms
then pisses
but should
had they not been cuffed
by views inflicted

somewhere
in his surrender
others won't see
the fireworks spun on flight
where wings are spread
to kiss the face
of the man on the moon
others won't see
but should
had they taken the time
as will I.