Orange for Interpol?
Or merely airport security?
Police:   a smorgasbord of reds.
Mostly the subtle tang of the runway's receding blue
Derrick savored, weepy in the predawn.
He checked his gold watch a final time
as cars in wide arcs converged.   
                                                       Sirs:
my passports are destroyed, and the remotest addresses
of memory purged. I have ever discharged
my duty and my firearm; this peroration will be all.
Thank you, first, for this almost-human quirk,
a tick of convincing fear at being, finally, caught.
I don't wonder that the boys so swarm;
top secret things were diddled and, well, a head of state was shot.
The turnstiles of miraculous escape must jam,
and their well-oiled clips unload without a catch.
But for the lights, Sirs, the lights, the lights--for them I am most grateful.
Blue haughty riddles, blurred by fog and these plausible tears.
Something about erasure, Sirs--no time to plumb.
A faint metal taste of the original lab. My beginning
and end. Hexadecimal death like suburban sprawl.
Terminate uplink. Powering down, Sirs.
Thanks for the gold watch and this glorious fall.

Derrick's Trip - Interpol