Seamus Heaney- A Constable Calls

• The pedal treads hanging relieved, Of the boot of the law.
• The line of its pressure ran like a bevel. In his slightly sweating hair.
• I sat staring at the polished holster. With its buttoned flap.
• Any other root crops?
• I assumed, small guilts and sat, Imagining the black hole in the barracks. Baton case.
• And looked at me as he said goodbye.
• A shadow bobbed in the window.
• His boot pushed off, And the bicycle ticked, ticked, ticked.