by Tom Brosman
In shirts of blue, in the dark of night
They roll to wrecks and danger
Before the medics come on scene
They comfort injured strangers.
Troopers are idols of kids who dream
One day they’ll drive a patrol car
Behind a wheel, so white it gleams
But it’s not the way things really are.
Things you would never want to see—
First at crash, the awful scene
Broken glass, blood—fatalities
Uniform far from clean.
A trooper with a few years on, sees
The best and the worst in people.
The number of friends the trooper trusts
Dwindles down to digits single.
Oh, lots of people do brag and say
They are going to be a trooper
But when the chance is on the table,
They choose to be a plumber.
Only a few, a vital few,
Wear the badge proudly and live the life
Work the nights and weekends, too
And don’t complain the cost is high.
There are those that talk and those that do
A river deep between the two.
Lots of troopers pay the price
And proudly wear the shirt of blue.