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      December 22, 2012The SecretSarah Cortez

      Love whatever can save
      your life. Your ballistic vest,
      your razored reflexes. The
      keys you rubber-banded
      to keep from jingling. The
      double-tied shoelaces that
      won’t come loose in a foot chase.
      The short hair a turd
      can’t grab in a scuffle
      to ream your face into concrete.

                                     Love
      that your nerves are a taut
      high wire balancing a lovely,
      sequined lady. Live on her
      narrow steel day and night, on
      and off-duty. Remember that
      loser you arrested years ago
      may be ready to collect your life,
      as he vowed he would
      some day. But, mostly,

                                     love
      your gun. Practice drawing until
      your arm is extruded machinery.
      The big grip in your big hand
      will cleave to palm, replacing all
      other knowledge. Clean its high
      performance parts as if you were
      swabbing the chambered mysteries
      of your own auricles and ventricles.

                                     And
      when you walk
      the lawman’s walk
      into dirty danger, love
      nothing, except
      what will save your life.

      from #37 - Summer 2012