Bring in the Dead
by Dale Braun
Dale Braun

Dale Braun is a graduate of Indiana University with a BS in Criminal Justice. He is a twenty-five year veteran of the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department where he holds the rank of Lieutenant. Currently, he is assigned to uniform operations as a shift commander. The poems in this issue of Amarillo Bay are Lt. Braun's first publications. He lives in Indianapolis with his wife, Sarah.

Look at how his face is stuck to the table
in a puddle of coagulation all because he
smacked his wife around and she decided
to serve up a short stack of payback in the
form of a .45 instead of pancakes and sausage,
his favorite. Big gun for such a small
girl.

I guess we can pry his face up with the spatula.

A lone spherical unbruised curious eyeball
stares at me from its vantage point directly
on the center line at the confluence of the
rivers Speed and Drunk where Newton proves
his laws of motion every freakin' time but still
they pay no heed, ending up with smashed
heads.

And dislodged eyes that watch me as I set out flares.

He opened his front door to get the morning
paper and found her hanging from the balcony
railing of the apartment right above his and was
so shocked that he didn't have time to wonder
why she would do such a thing to herself right
in front of his door causing him to grab his chest and
die.

It was like a two for one special that day.

The dispatcher said it was a domestic disturbance
so how could he have known that it was actually
a robbery when he walked into the store hearing
his radio crackle while orange flames roared from
blue and stainless steel and under a hanging cloud of
smoke he found himself supine thinking of his wife and
son.

Stand to. Order arms. The bugler and piper played well.

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