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The 3 Legged Chair

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I saw a black and white with lights and sirens "code 3" pass right by me, on my way to the liquor store, I waved right at he...don't you see, he is what I used to be, rolling hot to the robbery...and then...it hit me. So Today I sat outside upon my old chair, to think, to ponder, to reminisce and stare. The night was cold, the moon so bold, the clouds were scarce, the air was dry, and I began to cry. I thought about it all-the job, the good times and the bad...I chuckled and shed tears because I was sad. I had the best job, I had, I had...my breath was hard as gasoline, hotter than that of a 30 carbine, whiskey and tobacco is all I've seen, as flashbacks sometimes pop up and flare, since I've been out here on this old chair.


The job you ask which I will share...it required a shiny shield and a big old gun. It required a heart stronger than that of the sun, it required patience and it was a lot of fun...boy was it, I had a good run. I've sat in the chair at the courthouse with nothing to eat, I've sat in the chair at the coroners and pulled back many of a bodies' sheet, I've sat in the chair of a police car for years as my seat, Hell I've sat in the Chief's chair for a disciplinary greet....but nothing is depressing as this old chair that's become my seat. As I sit in this chair, cold are my feet, my vision blurred and my hands shake, they shake much like yours when there's nothing to eat. I can barely hold a glass of whiskey anymore, or barely make it to the grocery store, the years of law enforcement have worn me to my core, the brutal memories of blood and gore.


But there were many memories so great, working a lonely car out so late, the big calls you prepare and patiently wait, roll the dice each shift and note your fate, and wrestling with the huge drunk with a staggered gate...laughing with partners over a "code 7" or hot coffee at 3am at the 7-Eleven. We ran the show, and everyday my face smiled with a glow, I patrolled the dirty streets much like skid row, chit chatting on the down low with the city hoe, ohh the streets caused me to grow, time flew by like a fly, and one thing that I didn't think of then or know...was that I'd be sitting in this old chair at the end of the show..." I told my son, a policeman too, don't you wind up in this here chair, please please, don't you dare. It harvests sadness with a bit of a scare, a seat full of memories I just won't share....god dam, damn this old chair...find yourself a soft pillow to sleep on and care, for this chair boy, this chair ain't fair, do the job like a grizzly bear, don't bottle your emotions keep them out in the air...stay far away...from this old chair."
About the Author

Detective Patrick Shrum began his law enforcement career as a police explorer.  He enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.  He became a military police officer and during his service he provided law enforcement and security for Marine One under both President Bush and Obama.  After his Marine Corps service, he became a Federal Police Officers; and, then a Los Angeles Police Officer; and, joined another Southern California Police Department where he has recently been promoted to Detective.  He is a recipient of the “Presidential Service Certificate Award for Honorable Service in the White House, and the highest civilian police award-The Medal of Valor”

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