A racially profiled poem for my lover boy:
Caper cross my August road
Chestnut in your jaw.
Seriously, what was this little guy doing? Industrious, to be starting to hoard nuts so soon. The chestnut was still green, and bigger than his head. Overeager?
Also overeager, perhaps, were the police in our generally peaceful town. Today they were arresting a man. Guns drawn, they put him face down on the asphalt. He protested. I have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of the arrest, save that a few weeks ago helicopters and a robot were sent into the bank to investigate what was thought to be a bomb. Given that no further news followed the heli-cam pics of a Wall-E lookalike heading into the bank, I am guessing the mysterious package was some little old lady's salmon, wrapped neatly in brown paper by the friendly men at Tim's Seafood.
Quoting aforementioned lover-boy, "le sigh."
