Police - The Intruders Poem by Paul Warren

A Sunday morning on day shift patrol
Quiet and typing was the morning's goal
When we were given a 504 - sudden death
So we saddled up and drove the town's breath

We were met at the door by a man who was upset
Who directed us to the front room chair with a blanket set
And we saw an old gentleman under the blanket who had passed away
The signs were that he passed in his sleep not in a violent way

The greeter was the older man's son who lived with the family as one
He said that he seemed alright, having had his breakfast done
Of baked beans, eggs, bacon and toast his favourite meal
There was no great underlying health being able to live life as the real deal

So we took statements from the family through their teary eyes and faces
With a recommendation if the post mortem was clear through the paces
That the coroner release him as soon as possible to the family
But it always seemed to me when we went into these houses you see

That we were there as intruders at the worst time of all
And we had to make decisions for them outside their call.

© Paul Warren Poetry