Police Action

Returning from the city, I detrain
in downtown Berkeley, Wednesday, 8 at night.
Emerging, no one waiting can explain
why half of Shattuck’s blocked, and every light
we see is from patrol cars angled right
and left across from us. There’s nothing dread
or obvious. I bus two blocks past Dwight,
the chop of helicopter overhead.


This entry was posted in Neighborhood, Poetry, Transit and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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