Uniform Change-Out
Rent from DeepDyve- Uniform Change-Out
Relentlessly, the memos come instructing us to cut up our uniform shirts—those we’ve worn for years.
Instructing us to cut up tan shirts we could’ve died in, those we’ve worn for years then safely ended each shift.
Tan shirts. We could’ve died in those same shirts. We sweated and cursed then safely ended each shift, slapping each other’s arms and backs.
The same shirts we sweated and cursed inside punishing summer heat, slapping each other’s arms and backs. Shirts representing a lawman’s calling.
Inside punishing summer heat, directing traffic on tarred asphalt— shirts representing a lawman’s calling. A torso-sized emblem, this shirt.
Directing traffic on tarred asphalt, we are conspicuous, branded, marked. A torso-sized emblem, this shirt. A torso-sized target, this shirt. [End Page 5]
We are conspicuous, branded, marked. Public servants, police officers known by a torso-sized target—this shirt. The shirt we’d die to uphold.
Public servants, police officers known by 2½ yards of tan rayon with front closure— the shirt we’d die to uphold we’re now ordered to destroy.
2½ yards of tan rayon with front closure— the shirt our friends have died in we’re now ordered to destroy relentlessly. The memos come. [End Page 6]
SARAH CORTEZ is a councilor of the Texas Institute of Letters and winner of the PEN Texas Literary Award in poetry. Editor of seven volumes ranging from poetry to essay to noir fiction, she is also author of three volumes of poetry, the most recent of which is Cold Blue Steel (2013). Her essays, poems, short stories, and book reviews have been published in journals and anthologized.
