A Motorcycle Policeman

If I get another life, I want to live it as a motorcycle policeman.

I pulled up beside one sitting in a trap at the American Legion, near my residence. I suggested that he join the legion, as it is so close to where he works and the lunches there so affordable, and I admired his close-fitting goggles/sun-glasses.

In his job a full-face helmet would not work.

He acknowledged the wisdom of the suggestion, briefly, then: "Woops, I gotta get to work." He flicked on his lights and went after a van that had just run a light.

When my grandfather died, my brothers and cousins helped carry the coffin out to the herse. The memory of two of Denver's retired motorcycle policeman getting off their bikes and saluting the flag draped coffin brings tears to my eyes to this day. Their courtesy and regard was a surprise that comforted me far more than a twenty-one gun salute.