Code 4 - A Story of Profiling

Moonlight shines on the schoolyard -
And on the glowing innocent faces.

The innocents imbibe
And laugh
And smoke
And ponder:
One bellows occasionally.

A roaring sounds from the left.
And the stocky brown uniform
Throws his car up the driveway;
An angry, menacing move
By an angry, menacing car
With floodlight eyes
That shine on the glowing
innocent faces,
Drowning out moonlight
And making the innocents squint.

The stocky brown uniform jumps from the car,
And is followed by another brown uniform.
And with flashlights and truncheons
And batman belts full of shiny accoutrements,
The stocky brown uniforms
Amble and step toward the innocents,
While the innocents innocently
Drop,
Hide,
Kick out of sight
And otherwise make disappear
Anything innocently incriminating.

Casual, innocent faces,
blink and smile
At the stocky brown uniforms.

But uniforms have jobs to do
And aren't easily dissuaded,
Certainly not by blinks,
And smiles on innocent faces.

But what are these things
Surrounding the innocents?
Bikes?
Road bikes.
Cute, furry, cuddly road bikes.
Not at all dangerous.
Likely housebroken
And obedient.

"You don't seem to be causing a ruckus,"
Says the stocky brown uniform.

"No, sir, we're not,"
Say the innocents in unison,
Smiling innocent smiles,
Kicking innocent things further under the tables.

"Well, there've been complaints
Of Belligerence
And Ruckus
And Mayhem
And Cacophony here,
From otherwise reputable sources,"
Says the uniformed mouthpiece.

"Not that we've seen...
Not that we've heard...
Not that we have any knowledge of"
Chorus the chorus of innocents.

"Hmmm," says the stocky brown mouthpiece,
"Sometimes people exaggerate."

Then the mic with the curlicue tail
Screeches and squeals for attention.

The stocky brown uniform
Listens a while
While the innocents look on in innocence.

"Code 4," he says to the mic,
In the codified language
Of stocky brown uniforms.
And he looks at the innocents
With slight disappointment,
As if somehow he'd hoped
There'd have been more to do.
Then again to the mic,
with finality,
"It's, uh, just bicycle people."

So the stocky brown uniforms
Return to their car
To prowl for some other
Less innocent quarry,
While the innocents innocently
Pick up,
Un-hide,
Kick into sight
And otherwise make appear
Their innocently incriminating things.