Good Cop, Bad Cop

[couchgrouch]

Good Cop, Bad CopNeon shined through his window, from the GlamourPuss Clubas John stuffed cash in his suitcase, then closed it back upthere was salt in his cupboard, for when he had supper therehis Frigidaire chilled week-old beans, in tin can tupperwareand Pabst Blue Ribbonthe gal one floor down was playin', hymns on her old uprightit was three hours till the deal and, her tunes helped pass the nightthe plumbing moaned like a mutt, in that musty two-room diveJohn looked in the mirror, hoping his face would surviveif it stayed hiddencos some mask what they are because their minds are cloudedothers wear a mask but at least they're honest about itReggie glanced at his Seiko, but still had hours to gocleaned his piece on the bedside, as time leaked away slowhe'd talked bankers off ledges, hookers out of their sinbut lately ev'ry talk with, his ex-wife ended incheap sarcasmhe'd hocked his medal of valor, those two plaques in the hall'long with ribbons he'd earned, for courage past the callthough lawyers and alimony, were bleeding ev'ry dimethat night when he saw morning, for once he didn't finda deep, dark chasmcos some mask what they are because their minds are cloudedothers wear a mask but at least they're honest about itsoon as the money changed hands, in the purple neon glareJohn whipped out his shield and, said "internal affairs"Reggie reached for the pistol, holstered on his hipJohn rolled quick for cover, emptied out his clipfrom behind the fridge and cupboardas Reggie lay in the kitchen, he heard music belowmeeting his Maker to hymns, was a good way to goJohn opened his fridge as, sirens raced to the scenegave Reggie a swig of beer, fished bullets from his beansas tears salted his supper cos some mask what they are because their minds are cloudedothers wear a mask but at least they're honest about it(c)2006 Robert George