by Jim Hobby
former police officer
The shots rang out,
what a terrifying sound.
It echo’s over the radio,
an officer is down.
It was a routine call,
happens every day. But this time was different,
the ultimate price was paid.
Shooter barely seventeen,
on drugs and wired.
Now you lay there with gun still in hand,
but you never fired.
Whatever happened that night,
that this child could have won.
Maybe you looked into his eyes,
and thought of your own son.
Now the flag is at half mast,
and I’m standing at your wife’s door.
As I explain what happened,
your son just stares at the floor.
Now they have you in dress blues,
and we are carrying you to an open grave.
Even the biggest and toughest cop,
has a tear traveling down his face.
As I present your son the flag,
and the twenty-one gun salute echoes in the brisk air.
I remember our promise,
and for your family, I’ll always be there.
As they lower the casket,
this much I vow to be true.
I will never forget you my brother,
my brother in blue.
September 12, 2009