On the Swivel

I cannot sit at a table
In a restaurant
Unless facing the door.
I carefully scan
Any patron
Seated behind me.

I stop at the window
At every convenience store
Before I commit to entry.
I must be able to see
The check out
From where I stand.

I keep a loaded side arm
In the drawer
Of the table
At my bedside.
There are 13 rounds in the magazine
And one in the chamber.

My front door is locked
All day
Every day.
I secure the lock
No less than three times
Before I retire.

I keep a light on upstairs
And one downstairs
From dusk to dawn.

Edged weapons
Are tucked away
Throughout my home.

As I am about town
My eyes remain
On the swivel.

I am hyper alert
Suspecting the man
Pushing the carriage
The woman
In loose clothing.

I am nervous
About a car I’ve never seen
Parked too long
Where it’s never been.

I cannot watch a program
Featuring an effusion of blood
Or violence for prurient interests.

My life is as comfortable
As a man scratching his back
On barbed wire.

I am making installment payments
On a lifetime
Protecting and Serving
A citizenry
Who stopped giving a damn
Half a career ago.

It’s said there is a fraternity
In blue
For people like me….

But it only gathers for funerals.