The Gauntlet

Watching the police line move into barriers

they had established 

I smelled familiar scents known to me

for better than two decades...

gun oil, leather, smoke drifting across their line

from fires lit by "the bad guys"

fifteen yards down field.

I heard suppressed laughter emitting 

from both sides.

Loud cursing coming from down field

the crackling of newly lit fires

breaking glass

sergeants adjusting their line

I felt the familiar chill begin

between my shoulder blades

fanning to my toes.

Of course, I was not there.

The flickering images on my TV screen

carried me back to my position

just behind my officers

standing erect and confident.

They in riot gear.

I in my soft uniform

with military-styled "cover" (hat).

I wanted to be there with my officers

and I was pleased to be no where near

the pending clash would ignite.

I thought it dangerous 23 years ago.

It is more so today.

Today the tumult is joined

by the growl and vapors

of military vehicles

painted black

like ancient dragons.

They would be friendly to me

but they were built to frighten

as much as to discharge their purpose.

Police began to beat their shields

with batons

sending down the avenue 

a threat...

they were coming.

There were no "friendlies"

east of that line.

Drifting clouds hung above the asphalt

toward clumps of protesters.

Miserable, drifting gas clouds were used

with precision by law enforcement.

The occasional rebel would grasp a 

deployed canister

and lob it short of police lines

but was cheered by disorderly 

foolish young people

thinking themselves in confederation

with some twisted idea of flaming democracy

and prevailing anarchy.

They cannot

they will not prevail.

Once the gauntlet is thrown

by either side

there will be

blood.