Friday, January 04, 2019
Super-market Karma
-Got somebody’s Bounty Paper Towels.
Didn’t return.
But cheated out of item before...
let’s say small jar of pickles!
-So approximate or ambiguous
scales of justice, okay?
-Has to be!
-Thus, if a woman loses her lovely
husband, will another instantly appear?
-Perhaps after a bit.
-Justice delayed is Justice denied!
-Anyway, I use Salvation Army to
smooth things over in Karma Dept,
throw in tener! Red kettle in front
of Winn Dixie.
-You’re still a criminal!
Ad so on. I'm still teased in my
perpetually amused circle.
None this vague I insist!
Dillinger and Babyface having
much clearer heads.
Labels: checking out, conscience, crime, error, guilt, karma, punishment, super market
Saturday, June 24, 2017
The “There” There
Tresh and Habney
-The answer is in the dirt!
-Is it? You mean I been wasting
my time looking elsewhere? Clouds?
Infinity? Bosuns?
-Ben Hogan said that. About golf.
-Well, he knew about that.
-Uh, practice. Hit a million balls!
-From the dirt?
-Where else?
-He was smart. But I like it in Washington!
-Dirt there?
-Been known.
Labels: Ben Hogan, bribery, crime, dirt, golf, gossip, money, political crime, politics
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Crime In a Conservative Place
to be caught!
Red-handed,
as they say,
when not even
a prior suspect.
The religion
you're stuck with
enables your dead
parents to keen
after you
everywhere.
Pile on.
But they like
the eventual
plea bargain.
Labels: Conservative, crime, parents, religion
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Crime In a Conservative Place
How awful
to be caught!
Red-handed,
as they say,
when not even
a prior suspect.
The religion
you're stuck with
enables your dead
parents to keen
after you
everywhere.
Pile on.
But they like
the eventual
plea bargain.
Labels: Conservative, crime, haunting, parents, plea bargain, religion
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
24-7 City
...and a strategy thereof
-I’m running on it! Safe City!
-It is already if you stay outa certain neighborhoods.
-Or Founders’ Park after dark?
-I’d never go in there then.
-No, or you’d be knocked over by one of your buddies!
-It’s possible.
-Level with me! How many robberies in there perpetuated by
by those you know?
-Ninety-eight percent.
-When I’m Mayor, you and I hafta negotiate it down half at least.
-What the deal for me?
-We’ll figure it out.
-Can’t govern without thieves, huh?
-To this date, no one has found out how.
Labels: armed robbery, crime, mayor, municipal politics, thieves
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Happy Hogan's Motor Court
I lived with my sister, Crestview Apartments. No criminals there.
Or at Darsell Acres, or Melody Falls Condos.
But if you were to draw a rope around the three, you’d pretty
much gather all the folks not incarcerated in the city of Laurel Vista.
Prisons and jails being the main municipal feature.
I commuted to my job as Chicken Inspector, at the Cluck-Cluck
Farm in Bent Oak.
Well, Sis and I called it that, the job. Anyway, Foreman of an
operation it’s needless to go into. Think feathers.
One day I was tried, arrested, and sent to Daryl Bell Hoxey
Private Prison.
The work of Judge Streamline Carter! Actually, the trial had been
held without my knowledge. Then, they sent the officers to take
me into custody.
“Well, it’s only two years, and I’ll get out in one,” I counseled Sis
while we read the order as the cops fidgeted.
Lynne put up with nothing! And I had to be ripped from her grip.
They never named the charge, by the way. And haven’t yet.
But she was down every throat she could find! All authorities
insisted I had my day in court. But I hadn’t, of course.
But everybody she talked to believed it, and waved away facts.
Which is how you become one.
Her efforts did get me transferred from inelegant Hoxey to
a halfway house, the former Happy Hogan’s Motor Court.
A startling resort in the twenties and thirties, but now a
rustic ruin, more or less. But some cottages had been
partially refurbished, and I got one. A third of it Fifties style,
formica everything, and a twelve inch Motorola black and white.
Hey! Quite comfortable! The catering service brought the food
I ordered, and I cooked it myself.
Unfortunately, not much of a chef, which Lynne discovered
after a visit.
So, she moved in. After notifying the Hogans, who were fine
with it. Especially after telling them she was a bookkeeper, and
would straighten out their...uh, you couldn’t call them records,
since the motel part still secretly ran and got mixed up with
the inmates, who would frequently help with luggage for the tips.
Well, you couldn’t tell which from which, and a couple from Rhode
Island had been held a full week past their checkout date.
Courtesy of Bung Slater, who was the ostensible overall warden
over three such “arrangements.”
We’re awfully good friends with the Hogans, dinners at their place
or ours weekly.
Anyway, when my sentence due to end, they persuaded Bung we
tried escaping when we went to Lowes, which we did frequently.
He just winked, so we’re here indefinitely, I guess.
Lynne’s in a fury of remodeling, but kept the thirty-forty-fifty
flavor. Mostly thirty. She threw out the TV!
You’d expect John Dillinger to answer when the door chime
plays Prisoner of Love.
By the way, I’m no longer a prisoner, but as my fellows toasted
at the banquet, “An honored member of the Enforcement Community.”
Lynne married Chip Hogan, who took over when he finished grad
work at Syracuse. His parents moved to Indialantic, Florida.
Quite an age difference, Chip and Lynne, but he pipes that she’s a
dynamo in the office AND in the bedroom!
The three of us visit regularly and have seen rockets go off at
Cape Canaveral.
Believe it or not, the cons run the operation while we’re gone--
though we question the embezzlers politely upon return.
Labels: crime, Criminal Justice, jail, judge, law enforcement, motel, prison, private prison, privitization
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Criminals All
-Well, we meet once more! Your Holmes to
my Moriarty! Dr Stark Z Reilly, noted
Criminologist! Expert in the Annals of Cri...!
-Speaking of which, you're probably in there.
-No such luck, Grimy Guru. No convictions.
-Oh?
-Ooops, I spoke too fast. Pinched for Speeding
in New Jersey. Paid the fine. Case closed.
-So, a criminal.
-Yeah, a regular Baby Face Nelson, Willy Sutton,
Lucy Borden, even--for modern variety’s sake,
and sexual tolerance in all acceptable examples.
-She was acquitted.
-Ah but the rhyme lives on! Pen being mightier than
the Shiksa!
-Whatever. No thefts or assaults on your record?
Convicted or not?
-Hey, in our neighborhood? Lifting something was, like,
a Badge of Honor! So when that retired cop, Totally White
Leary, trimmed his rosebushes with a neat-o little hand
thing, and absently put it down...?
-You...?
-So pretty! Like jewelry. But I did it just to hear him roar.
-Assaults?
-Ex and I, après drunken ice skating. One frozen word leads
to another and we swing some vicious haymakers. But they
land on layers and layers, so we just get exhausted to icy tears.
I can still hear the muffled blows and shrieks of frustration.
-Lovely story, but just Assault. Disturbing the Peace etc.
At any rate, you're a criminal all right!
-Hey, key me into your Annals of Vicious Crime then!
Be my guest! Like, lemme aid your academic freakin
career with my dark example!
-You're already in there!
-Oh yeah? Well maybe I care a hell of a lot more about
what St Peter is bringing up on HIS laptop.
-He's in The Cloud.
-Atheist humor, weaker than most.
Labels: assault, Baby Face Nelson, crime, criminal, Criminal Justice, Lucy Borden, marriage, speeding, Willy Sutton
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Stand Your Ground, Beforehand
Coming Attractions
-So join “Preempt the Punks!” if you're so
worried about us. Or you gonna wait
till your daughter raped?
-What I've seen thus far is that you beat up simpletons.
-Practice.
Labels: crime, preemption, Right Wing, right wing violence, violence
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Officer Loses It
Cop
Mitch loved the action part of policing. Dozed off
during lectures, and messed up paperwork.
Alive as he has ever been while chasing a burglary
suspect over the wet cobbles fronting Darsen’s
Shoes. Spotted him exiting a Chase branch bank,
and radioed for help.
In keeping with the Victorian theme, Old Man Darsen
had installed boot scrapers. Mich’s forehead ends
up on one.
Sgt Olgrow discovers him after cuffing the suspect.
Mitch had rolled over with a groan, and Olgrow, in
the dim light from the old-fashioned streetlamps,
sees the gash as filling with red mica.
Mitch gets on. He doesn’t yet know the year. Speaks to
Gwen who isn’t there, but left him months before his
accident.
When? he asks himself in a clear moment.
The first thing he says to the doctor that next
morning. “It’s funny. Somebody named When.”
After a year the old doc says it takes time. Young
one recommends early retirement.
The city throws a nice party. Even the Governor,
who’s considering a Presidential run, emails him
later.
He’s learning the computer afresh and it’s his
first message. First he reads the Subject Line as
“Grim Christ Fixer” but shakes and shakes his
head until “Great Crime Fighter” appears.
Gwen never returns, though he feels she has.
Has conversations, even arguments.
The green trees have turned liquid. He jams his
eyes shut when this happens.
Labels: crime, forced retirement, head injury, police, recovery from trauma, traumatic injury, visions
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Lady Astor's Begonias
Messaging
-She peed on Lady Astor’s begonias.
-That took special effort. Why not just the grass alongside?
-A message pee!
-Besides, it’s not Lady Astor, is it?
-We’ve always called her that as a joke. But she’s mega rich too.
-How about Pee-girl’s partner in crime?
-He punched the officer responding.
-Nice people in this town.
-Can’t get work! Lady Astor’s club has clamped down on hiring.
-Do they have reasons?
-Yeah. Chief of which they don’t give a shit!
Labels: crime, rebellion, scorn, unemployment, wealth
Friday, February 22, 2013
Mike and Gladys-Ann Discuss Morality
-He was our little-boy leader. And one day,
stole the last cookie. When his parents confronted
him he put on his famous face of sheer guilt.
-And from that seed...?
-The Chevvy Gang. Drove aimlessly for hours
and then hung out in McDonald's parking lot.
-So? Teen Nothing. Who hasn't experienced it?
Where's the hook to this bland story?
-I don't know. How 'bout his present domicile?
Death Row. Quentin.
-That could be serious.
-Eventually. Anyway, drug killing.
-How marvelous of him to exemplify what
full-of-shit adults warned us of. How the
pettiest misstep early would lead to heinous
crime.
-Evil has steps, as does morality.
-When Marx heard morality in connection to
the obedient bourgeois we all are, he burst
out laughing.
-That's why he's Marx. Rest of us cope.
Labels: crime, guilt, Marx, morality, teen
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Hooray for
"Plot involves hairdresser, let’s call him
Bruce, because cliches are easier to deal
with this morning. Anyway, what he
learns from his clients lays the ground-
work for his second career: Cat Burglar!
Anyway, get me a masculine actor.
Anyway, get me a masculine actor.
I’m sick of these pseudo macho men
who camp it up because they’re afraid
we’ll think them queer.
How about Relitzky? Uh huh, yeah, I know. Brute! He eats steel and shits bullets!
Are you finally through? Too hard edged? Couldn’t sell Bruce?
How about Relitzky? Uh huh, yeah, I know. Brute! He eats steel and shits bullets!
Are you finally through? Too hard edged? Couldn’t sell Bruce?
Yada yada yada! No empathy there at all?
I...uh...wouldn’t worry about that.
I...uh...wouldn’t worry about that.
I know him better than you.
And his wives.
(Sings) And the boy he left behind him,
where the River Drava flows.”
where the River Drava flows.”
Labels: Cat Burglar, crime, Hollywood, homosexuality
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Philly’s Mount Airy Elite
of a penetratingly chilly
morning, emptying from
mansions and gym-
sized apartments
in sleep wear.
Auto glass everywhere, glint-
ing weakly. Furious Murder
shouteth then ’pon the frost air.
If perp bumbled by with pet
crowbar, he'd be torn limb
from larceny! Bloody
pyjamas small price to pay.
Seeketh thee Better Angels?
None here in beautiful Mt Airy
of olden, Quaker Philadelphia.
of a penetratingly chilly
morning, emptying from
mansions and gym-
sized apartments
in sleep wear.
Auto glass everywhere, glint-
ing weakly. Furious Murder
shouteth then ’pon the frost air.
If perp bumbled by with pet
crowbar, he'd be torn limb
from larceny! Bloody
pyjamas small price to pay.
Seeketh thee Better Angels?
None here in beautiful Mt Airy
of olden, Quaker Philadelphia.
Labels: crime, Philadelphia
