Tactical Contact

“Whoa! What the hell have you done?”
[Both Officers Exit Pursuit Vehicle]
“Oh my giddy aunt….
eh? of course he’s unconscious,
it’s a coma probably,
the crazy speed that we were travelling,
it’s a miracle that he ain’t dead… yet.
His right leg is proper mangled,
just look at it, Jesus Christ Alive…
shut up a minute, I’m thinking
… is Billy working this afternoon?
because he’s a Scorpion, we need him.
No, you div, not over the airwaves,
what’s wrong with you? Use your phone.
You’ve got him, beauty…
shit, they’re down Kent, we’re knackered.
Ok, so it’s Plan B then…
the Suspect gunned the chicken-chaser
flat-out down this back lane,
dropped the Adidas backpack
(Which We Later Discovered
Was Full Of Stolen Wallets And Phones)
as he was climbing up that dodgy looking
metal fire escape towards the roof
… and we had just arrived at a stop
when he took a tumble from two-thirds up.
Now, call it in, all calm and business-like
… then sanitizer-wipe the front of the car.”

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.