It’s a wonderful life
That time of year when everyone gets to gather around the tree and open presents.
A time when loved ones come to drink eggnog, get drunk and commit various acts of domestic violence upon each other.
Little Billy wakes up to a brand new Xbox One and the latest Call of Duty like the little video crack whore he has become (no offense to crack whores).
A snowy wonderland where Dad beams with excitement as he awaits this years pajama ensemble, because who really gives a fuck what Dad wants anyway.
Your little sister sits in the corner pouting because Santa brought her an IPhone 7 instead of the 8s.
Even your dog Walter is disappointed at the obvious Dollar Store chew toy you got him on this most holiest of days.
Christmas has always been that holiday that tends to bring out the highs and lows in each of us.
If you have been a cop longer than a day then you know what it’s like to work Christmas.
Or worse, Christmas Eve
Policing is just different on Xmas.
It’s the only time of year that domestics start before 8:00 AM and don’t let up until you mark off duty.
Oh what a glorious day it is.
Humans trying so hard to be good but just can’t. Or the other calls that seem to only happen on Christmas.
For no particular reason, I thought it a good idea to write a Christmas poem, but from a cops perspective.
A Cop Christmas
A cop Christmas, wearing the badge and a gun,
No eggnog or mistletoe or other yuletide fun.
For others yes, but not for you,
Waiting for a body to drop, hopefully fresh and not too much goo.
Did I just go there, I most certainly did,
Left the keys in my patrol car and now it is hid.
Jokesters and pranksters, why would Christmas be different,
To cops this is love, if you were wondering what that meant.
Your sergeant, at line up, “go home, be with family,”
“Don’t worry,” he says, for soon it will be busy,
You start your morning cloudy and grey,
Your mood seems to lighten,
When you remember it’s holiday pay.
No matter the money there’s something that’s missing,
A gift from your kids or the wife you should be kissing.
The calls start to pick up, just as the sergeant had said,
An unresponsive female, when you arrive… she is dead.
The calls for service and the human condition,
Don’t take a day off for a holy tradition.
Your calling for this many times you will question,
The pain and the suffering, no truth to the lesson.
Nobody will know, this burden you carry,
While others sing, “eat, drink, and be merry!”
Don’t worry if this poem seems a bit disjointed,
I’m still wondering, like you, what exactly the point is.
The words are elusive, they seem to escape me,
A poem for cops, I know, how lame could that be.
This Christmas, however, always remember,
The cops who protect and serve,
Every 25th of December.
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