the police helicopter

the police helicopter keeps circling over the yard.
“what do they want?” I ask her.
“they’re probably looking for you,” she says.
this is not as far-fetched as you might think.
I went into a bar one night with some friends
and   the owner came out from around the bar
and asked me to speak to him.
“I don’t know if we can serve you or not.
you must promise to be good.
you created quite a fuss the last time you
were here.”
I promised him to be good and
I drank under a great deal of strain.

anyhow, the helicopter keeps circling
and it is only one o’clock in the afternoon
but the night before it had circled and circled
shining its beam into the backyard
and into the crapper.
it has circled for 45 minutes, then
had left.

now it is back.
“what the hell?” I say.
“they want you,” she says.
“this is ridiculous,” I say.
I walk into the backyard.
there’s nothing out there:
walnut trees, bamboo stalks, a discarded
sofa and grass 3 feet high.
I stand out there and watch the helicopter
it finally leaves.

I come back in.
“I feel like John Dillinger,” I say.
“you look like John Dillinger,” she says.
I walk to the mirror.
it’s true:
I look like John Dillinger.
but no woman in a red dress would
finger me.   I’m
too smart.