The Sergeant's Question

Drop it!
Do it now!

He was centered
In my blade site.
I owned him
And he knew it.

But he kept the weapon
In his hand.
Half-turned toward me
The fear in his eyes
Was palpable.

I said drop it!
Do it now!
Do it
Or I will shoot you!

He brought his right hand up.
The shiny object in his hand
Was turning in my direction.

Strange
The games time plays
When the surge of near-panic
Hits the blood stream.

I had fractions of a second
But I had all the time in the world
To decide whether to shoot.

I fired.

The object in his hand
Clattered to the street
Spinning and bouncing
As his body crumpled.

It was a cell phone.

Replaying the training simulator
The sergeant asked me
If I was pleased with my decision.

This time I killed a man
In a training video.

A jury would not ask me
If I knew it was a cell phone.
A jury would not ask me anything.

I will never again need to make
A Shoot-Don’t Shoot judgment.
I'm done.
My semi-auto is racked and retired.

But I have thought about
The sergeant’s question
For twenty years.
And I have come to this:

It is better to be tried by twelve
Than carried by six.