Sometimes I read the whole

                medical record when I only need part

The whole record is only a piece of the story

                which is more than

I need to know about a man

                who insists he only kills

People who come back to life

                in ten minutes

In his unwell mind he’s careful to stab

                only police officers

Because they return as hoards

                in blue or khaki uniform

I know this man’s ten minutes means eternity

                to an officer of the law

It means forever to any family

                of the killed or the killer

I once watched dew evaporate

                from wings disguised as leaves

For ten immortal minutes

                (my first Praying Mantas)

I find the bits of the record I need

                to populate required data fields

The final hour of my work day

Feels like a boundless green lawn

                needs another mow


Katy E. Ellis is our Poet in Residence for June.

Previously: All Signs are Dares, and To Squamish Waters.