A depressed cop seated

in a squad car, seriously

considers suicide

as he thinks of the drab

flotsam and jetsam

of his monotonous life.

Hunkered down under shade trees,

he imagines he’s in a cloak and dagger

film noir as he waits for a speeder

or an assassin lurking in the bushes.

He has recurrent dreams

of walking on broken glass.

If he could get lucky tonight

by having his ashes hauled,

he might blunt the shards

of his despair.

He grows hot under the collar,

thinking of his braless girlfriend

who wears a see-through silky blouse

whenever he visits .

He forgot to buy her flowers

or her favorite Hershey kisses,

but he remembers how much

she loved his mother’s

Volotini di Malanzane

he brought her one night.

He might try that trick again.