... telling on myself again.  See,
there was this policeman friend
of mine.  Hadn't seen him in a
while.  At our local Christmas

parade, a couple years ago, he
saw me, hollered me over.  I
decided (being in the holiday
mood and all) he needed a hug

--- he looked like a teddy bear,
you know, the big, cuddly kind?
Wrapped my arms around him;
went to separate, discovered

we were attached at the cane
--- mine, caught in his weapon.
Now what to do.  Afraid if I tried
to move, it would disengage

the safety and blow a hole into
both our feet and I'd be charged
with attempted murder of a peace
officer and what do I do, what do I

do?  Another officer came to the
rescue, laughing the entire time
he worked to pry us apart.  Told
our hero the officer I was attached

to was not at fault.  "Sure, sure,"
he said, "Have witnesses."  He
pointed at my twin sister, who was
gasping on the ground.  Thanks a

lot, sis.  "Tell them about the time
you asked a policeman how he
kept his underwear up," she said
--- shut up, Karen, love you but do

not go there.  Yeah, yeah --- know
you're gonna want to hear the rest
of the story but that's a subject for
another poem.  Needless to say,

when I see my policeman friend,
make sure my cane and his gun
belt are a safe distance apart ...
don't hug him much any more.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (10/2)