Friday, February 28, 2014
King's Crier Podcast 2/28/14
Standing on the safe side
of the guard rail,
the teeming masses soon to become more rabid
than starved rats, mill about
temporarily still, like extras on a zombie movie.
Pressed against the gate, but open doors ahead
and prizes for the first. Even employees hide
until the initial run is over, afraid of frothing
madness, of errant elbows,
of hidden blades, like prison shanks,
punches muffled by heavy winter gloves,
and no holiday pay or hazard pay.
The gate opens, first a trickle, the very front
relieved as steel is removed for their faces,
then more, and more, and more,
an avalanche of screaming flesh,
as if escaping some biblical disaster.
I watch a woman, bundled against the cold,
fall underfoot, cradling her head; None stop.
When the stampede passes, she gets up, fresh
bruises forming around her face, and hobbles--almost
hops-- to enter, joining the others.
I pull my radio up, call the other cops.
They saw her too. We laugh. The melee
continues unabated. My friend brings me
hot cocoa. Would've preferred coffee.
We check the slip ties and extra cuffs,
freezing our asses off. How's that for holiday cheer?