Dispatch with Speed

Cool morning after the rain,
a bit of fog in the treetops,
pines dripping liquid down to the parking
lot, police cruisers lined up
nearly straight, along
the yellow line
when the 911 call came through.

Doris, gray hair mashed in what
she called her dispatch look, frowned,
picked up, the suspense of a new emergency
rising from her heartbeat to her head,
temples keeping time with her tapping
thumb against the computer mouse.

“Your emergency,” she breathed into the mic,
sounds of a scuffle banging somewhere,
so near she could hear grunts
from the pugilists.

“Fight over at Mott’s. Get here
quick. It’s that
poison guy, killed his
daughter and Jack’s got him in a
hammer lock. Come quick.”

Doris rolled her eyes,
hitting the right frequency,
clearing her throat,
giving the dispatch,
hoping she’d be in time.