Bound by a brotherhood with keen aplomb,
a slew of police officers combed the area.
Ready with Billy club and revolver,
giving law enforcement its everything,
each officer stood dignified in blue.
Piers lined the Bronx shoreline; waves would slap
over tug tires in tidal rodeo.
Limited to all eyes, a barge progressed until
it vanished through visual radii.
Crowding at the end of the pier, manic
energy overtook them all en masse.
Then one cop spoke, his voice strident and strict:
“How is it going to look? How will such
relegation of competency appear?â€
“Expect a mere three cents for our due!â€
“Each one of us, reduced to inept Keystone!â€
Sounds of ships resounded with foghorns.
Trading blame and vulgarity was art.
Outbound due to an absurd imbroglio,
(language of informants accented in fail),
ending all hope for a stolen diamond, hope
now just an immense barge, garbage laden.
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