by Paul Mariani

    Midnight. For the past three hours

    I've raked over Plato's Republic

    with my students， all of them John

    Jay cops， and now some of us

    have come to Rooney's to unwind.

    Boilermakers. Double shots and triples.

    Fitzgerald's still in his undercover

    clothes and giveaway white socks， and two

    lieutenants——Seluzzi in the sharkskin suit

    & D'Ambruzzo in the leather——have just

    invited me to catch their fancy （and illegal）

    digs somewhere up in Harlem， when

    this cop begins to tell his story：

    how he and his partner trailed

    this pusher for six weeks before

    they trapped him in a burnt-out

    tenement¹ somewhere down in SoHo，

    one coming at him up the stairwell，

    the other up the fire escape

    and through a busted² window. But by

    the time they've grabbed him

    he's standing³ over an open window

    and he's clean. The partner races down

    into the courtyard and begins going

    through the garbage until he finds

    what it is he's after： a white bag

    hanging from a junk mimosa like

    the Christmas gift it is， and which now

    he plants back on the suspect.

    Cross-examined by a lawyer who does his best

    to rattle⁴ them， he and his partner

    stick by their story， and the charges stick.

    Fitzgerald shrugs⁵. Business as usual.

    But the cop goes on. Better to let

    the guy go free than under oath

    to have to lie like that.

    And suddenly you can hear the heavy

    suck of air before Seluzzi， who

    half an hour before was boasting

    about being on the take， staggers

    to his feet， outraged⁶ at what he's heard，

    and insists on taking the bastard⁷

    downtown so they can book him.

    Which naturally brings to an end

    the discussion we've been having，

    and soon each of us is heading

    for an exit， embarrassed by the awkward

    light the cop has thrown on things.

    Which makes it clearer now to me why

    the State would offer someone like Socrates

    a shot of hemlock⁸. And even clearer

    why Socrates would want to drink it.

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