Sunday, February 13, 2011


They imagined a break in, an abduction,
figured a young woman had been snatched
while loading her groceries and thrown into
an old pervert’s panel van to be a sex slave.
They’d called the police and waited for him.
Two Shop-Rite grocery store workers, serving as
crime stoppers, neighborhood watch, good citizens.
Looks of disappointment feel on their faces as
I walked to my Jeep with its passenger door open.
They commented on the fact that I was a guy.
I told them how I loaded up my groceries but
must’ve forgotten to close a door when I ran into
the Pet Store. Last week I’d done the same thing
at work, but without so much uproar or drama.
They explained how they’re prepared for this,
what they thought happened, how they got cameras,
how I couldn’t leave, I’d have to prove it was my car.
When the cop rolled up, he didn’t want to see papers,
he knew it was just a case of an absent minded guy
who didn’t close a car door and a couple of grocery store
workers who'd watched too much Law and Order or CSI
hoping to be part of something big this Saturday morning.

1 comment:

Semaphore said...

Excellent slice of Americana!

It's been a while since I re-visited your blog (so much to read, so little time) but I'm glad I did. I've watched your craft evolve, and now your confidence is palpable; the set-up, the pay-off, the wry turn-of-phrase, all wonderful elements.

This poem propelled me through a large part of your newer poems, and before I knew it, I'd spent an hour on your blog. Wonderful work. Thank you.