up by the local police
as a suspect
in a bank robbery.
i look similar
to the dude
who ran away with a few
thousand bucks.
they frisk me
and toss me into the squad
car
and take
me downtown to the precinct
where
i'm fingerprinted
and asked to stand
in a line up.
the first thing that comes
to my
mind, is how many poems
will i be able
to get out of this
situation.
i ask the desk Sargent for a pad
of paper
and a pen, so
that i can take notes.
he gives me
a crayon
and an empty bag of donuts.
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