Okay, spiel time. Constable Benton Fraser does not belong to me (much as
I wish he did) and neither do any other characters on the infamous due
South. They belong to Alliance, and I will *eventually* give Ben and
them back -- if my muse leaves me alone for a while. This is a nice
little poem, strictly G-rated. And no, this is not Ray Vecchio or Ray
Kowalski writting to Ben -- it is me. No slash interpretations,

Ode to a Mountie

You patrol the streets
Alongside your detective friend.
You stand tall and proud,
Wearing your uniform with finesse.
You place your hat on your head
And straighten your shirt.
You look so great,
Yet you don't even realize it.
Women drool at your feet,
And I just say, "Down, girl, down!"
Why don't they listen?
Yes, you do fill out that serge nicely.
Of course you have eyes to drown in.
But what could it be?
Maybe it's that untouchable air
That you display.
Maybe it's that unmistakeable appeal
That you just seem to ooze.
Maybe it's that charming intelligence
That you possess.
Or maybe it's the witty demeanor
That you so subtley use.
Whatever it is,
It's sucked me in, too.

Theresa Hogg