An Officer’s Christmas Eve

Candies and cakes.

Eggnog too.

Turkey, ham, and stuffing.

Pumpkin pie.

Gingerbread and chocolate fudge.


Family and friends.

A warm fire.

Dancing flames.

Sizzling cedar logs.

Stockings hanging from above.


Family dog.

Sleeping at their feet.

Cookies and milk.

Kids laugh and squeal.

Silent wishes and hopeful dreams.



Surrounded by those I love.

How I long to be there.


Pepper spray and handcuffs.

Puking smelly drunks.

Radios and TASERS.

Spouses, battered and bruised.

Black eyes and broken bones.


Tiny tots and tears.

Drug dealers and thieves.

Sad, pitiful kids.

No toys.

No place to sleep.



Surrounded by those I love.

How I long to be there.


Crack pipes burning.

No food, no heat.

Gunshots and stabbings.

Car crashes and suicides.

Ambulances, hospitals, and morgues.









Thankful that I have one.

Aren’t you?

Please, give your kids an extra hug this year.

1 reply
  1. Evelyn
    Evelyn says:

    Every time I see the title of your blog, I laugh. When I was six-years-old, I heard my father reiterate how much he disliked working “graveyards,” I thought he patrolled the cemeteries. Never fear, Lee, since he was a bush pilot before becoming a police officer, we’d wait for him to put the plane in the hangar.. I mean, wasn’t that what the tiny wheel at the back of the plane was for? To tip the plane up to position it up on the hanger?
    Your poem reminded me of those times, he would be sitting in a crowded room, staring into space – I imagine those visions you describe filled his mind.
    Thank you for enlightening us!

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