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POLICE BEAT

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p align="justify" class="style1" lang="en-US" xml:lang="en-US"> June 20

(2008-268014) 9:43 a.m.: Sometimes I get bored/And think this job is a curse/So now I’ll regale you/With tales told through verse/And should you complain/That my poetry sucks/You are probably correct/But shut the fuck up/Because I’m a bit lazy/And just ’cause I can/I’ve asked some fellows to join me/In this poetry slam/This is a good idea/I try to tell myself/Can I get to 700 words/With just a little bit of help?/Maybe I can/And maybe I will/Then later tonight/On to Boone’s Farm and pills/So without further ado/Let’s get this ball rolling/I’ve much left to do/It’s time to start, um, doing.

Here we go: The volleyballs bounced in silence/A dark mood took hold of the school/Foreboding, disturbing, violent/Computers were smashed/Money was stolen/The thieves left/The volleyballs still bounce in silence.

(2008-268754) 7:44 p.m.: He kicked in the door and took a quick look ’round/All kinds of goodies were there to be found/So too was a young lady, she was still home/Suspect fled the scene, and nothing was stol’n.

June 21

(2008-269142) 12:10 a.m.: Oh fat man, why would you do such a thing?/To take a man’s wallet at gunpoint is an ignoble sting/I’m sure you don’t know what “ignoble” means, so/I’ll say it clear: You’re an asshole, buddy.

(2008-269239) 1:23 a.m.: By Deanna Morey! He walked alone/His name is unknown/To what he hoped was a brothel on Central/With him he brought a brick/But forgot the large stick/And busted the south-facing window/Alas! There were no whores/And no blow to score/So he ganked a Diet Coke and went home to finish his business.

(2008-269277) 1:50 a.m.: Glass doors and bricks/Generally don’t mix/One breaks the other/Than you grab lots of shit/A bottle of Jack/A bottle of rye/Some cash to go with it/Let’s all go get high.

(2008-269485) 6:43 a.m.: “Who goes there?” she screamed as the sunlight dimmed/A thief then fled in an unknown direction.

(2008-269844) 1:37 p.m.: Sonnet! A man arrived at the house to see a buddy/A confrontation followed, the victim to the ground/On this hot afternoon, herein things got muddy/A beating ensued, then our suspect left town.

Our victim discovered, much to his chagrin/That his wallet was missing – but not for long/Our thief returned, the wallet appeared once again/But the money and driver’s license, they were long gone.

Our thief threw the wallet into the victim’s front yard/Taunting, perhaps, he took off in his car. (Editor’s note: Your sonnet is missing a quatrain, dumb-ass.)

(2008-270080) 5:46 p.m.: Cinquain! Bullet/Hot steel/Flying, soaring, missing/Car runs into tree/Escaped.

(2008-270102) 6:07 p.m.: By Justin Strout! So much unknown/About all but what’s contained/The patio was shelter/For the mountainous 10-speed/Now a hole in the screen/No bike. A hole in the world?/No you.

June 24

(2008-273862) 10:11 a.m.: Missing merch, broken storage containers/Stuff’s gone missing from this store for a week/No suspects, no good ideas/This place is kinda screwed, right?

(2008-274127) 1:20 p.m.: By Avery Beckendorf! Chaotic, this crazy roller coaster/Rushes, rolls, rumbles on/And on and on, trolley car and bus/Until one small man, sun-visored/Mustachioed, disenchanted/Knifes open a cash box/Tripping up the flow … remaining unknown.

June 25

(2008-274950) 12:13 a.m.: Haiku No. 1! A wrench to enter/But somebody called the cops/You go to jail, bitch.

Haiku No. 2 (by Justin Strout)! Two guys with weapons/A window with life inside/Uh-oh! It’s po-po!

(2008-275121) 3:16 a.m.: In the middle of the night/As young children sleep/Two punks got arrested/Here’s your Police Beat Tip o’ the Week/If you are ever accosted by the men in blue/Whilst you’re holding 23 grams of weed/When the officer asks if he can search your person/You need to reply, “No, Mr. Piggy”/See, the copper cares not if you made his job easy/He also cares not if you’re calm and polite/Because 23 grams is possession with intent/So guess where you get to spend the night.

jbillman@orlandoweekly.com

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