Six police cars in a church parking lot, Friday night, all cockeyed angle, no time for care. One officer walks the field beneath an electric grid, head down, as if pondering the uses of power.
I'm only passing by in a slow line of cars, each of us craning at the scene. (I'm late for my martini, three olives.) I won't know who or what violation occurred to summon this caravan of guns, or why this god-house lot warrants this army of blue & billy-clubs.
Later, it's crowded with ordinary vehicles and I imagine, inside, someone preaches that in the end, all will be forgiven if you will only give it up for Jesus, amen.