He just dropped dead

A poem

There was a cat on the step across the street as I watched from my window.
A man came shouting around the corner
     banged on the apartment door
     screaming, flailing distressed—
     his words indecipherable.
Pounding, kicking,
     cables ripped from the wall. 
He began to quake
     to shake, to shiver
On his knees he seemed to weep.
Then he fell.
Still the cat watched.
A plainclothes cop had been trailing,
     as he tried the smelling salts a cruiser came howling,
     and like a clown car a half dozen officers poured out and watched the chest compressions and the Narcan
     but the man gave no response.
Soon the ambulance came.
Paramedics checked his vitals, talked with the police.
Firemen and all the rest
     shuffled, chatted, observed.
Long minutes passed 
     like the cars that slowed to wonder what the commotion was all about
     all the rubberneckers walking by
     and shaking heads—
"How sad. Another one."
From the apartment window an outstretched hand
     passes to an officer a ziplock bag stuffed white
     and soon a young man tries to leap but was caught tenderly by those welcoming, uniformed arms
     and out came the handcuffs.
Very gentle, very calm
     paddy wagon hangouts.
The paramedics lift the man from the ground onto a stretcher
     roll it all into the ambulance but they don't drive away.
The firetrucks go, a couple cops stay
     all gloved and stern and huffing disappointed. 
A long while passes before they too are gone, and the ambulance, no sirens.
But the cat is still sitting on that step
     watching all the commotion with bored gold eyes
     and then, a tweet of a bird calls it away.
A meal is more interesting 
     than a man dropped dead.