It is a standing joke that police officers are always to be found enjoying coffee and donuts.
A few years ago in Florida, two incredibly stupid criminals tried to hold up a donut shop.
Guess who they found there.
This poem explains what it is that police officers find in those donut shops that is so important to them.
Throughout the land, there's this vignette:
At truck stop, coffee shop, dinette,
At Dunkin' Donuts and all those spots
Where racks of donuts and coffee pots
Are featured in the joint's decor;
And folks go in and out the door
At every hour 'round the clock
To take a meal, relax and talk.
It's warm and quiet; clean, well-lit;
A place to sit and rest a bit.
A place of simple smells and savors
And donuts in a hundred flavors.
A place where anytime one stops,
You're sure to find a couple cops.
Sipping coffee, they sit in pairs
And down their donuts and eclairs.
So often have I seen this sight
That I've deduced that it's a rite
That cops perform for some good reason
Each night and day in every season.
This ritual is clearly meant
To serve them as their sacrament --
Like that which calls for wine and bread.
But theirs, you see, employs instead
The bitter coffee and something sweet
To fortify them for the street.
And that is when they say their prayer
For strength when they're alone out there.
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