Fred Holmquist’s title

That was quite the morning for me, too,
when over the stubbled hill of a Saturday,
the cops nabbed me out of the blue,
took hold of my collar, turned me around
to see what my parents might do.

Those cops wanted to intimidate
a girl like me. I listened quietly
as they gave a long explanation of my fate—
the whys and wherefores of not throwing rocks
though someone else’s window plate.

I had to apologize, couldn’t clown around.
I wasn’t sure why these developers or other Joes
were never bawled out for knocking down
our tree forts, birch-protected paths,
building ticky-tacky houses
with just two bedrooms, one bath.

But those cops seemed satisfied
that I was scared enough not to hurl
rocks again (they believed my lie)
and being just a girl, still criminal,
they let me go.

 

Published Whistling Girls and Cackling Hens, Sandra Larson, Pudding House Chapbook Series, 2003