Close Call

This is a serious poetry forum not a "love-in". Post here for more detailed, constructive criticism.
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Preponderant Poster
Preponderant Poster
Posts: 1092
Joined: Wed Jul 11, 2018 11:26 am

Tue Apr 27, 2021 9:29 pm

The cop standing at my door doesn’t get it;
I don’t open my door to people I don’t know,
most of all a cop telling tales. He claims
that if I don’t open up I’ll be in trouble.
But why? What did I do? He won’t say.
Later I’m told of a neighbor’s complaint,
though the way this cop is acting, you’d think
that I had killed her. I'm beset by visions
of being Tasered, wrestled to the ground.
Were I black, I might die from this cowboy cop,
so intent is he on having his way. But God
in his wisdom made me white (to keep me safe),
then blessed me twice, with a black heart, and sense
enough to know when to keep my door closed.


This incident happened just a week ago. I leaned out a second-story window to ask him what he wanted, and he wouldn't tell me unless I walked down the stairs and opened my front door. That struck me as odd, so I told him that he should just tell me why he was here. It irked him that I wouldn't follow his "lawful demand" (which it actually wasn't), and he made not-so-veiled threats that I would get into trouble if I didn't open my door. That immediately filled my head with images of being arrested on some pretext, or wrestled to the ground if I said something he didn't like. He also said that he could go to the police station and get something (he wouldn't say what — a warrant?) which would force me to open my door, but that was false. I ended up sending a complaint to the police chief.
If I don't critique your poem, it is probably because I don't understand it.

My names: Caleb Murdock >>> Perry >>> CalebPerry
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