Police Embarrassment

‘This is the Police. Come out with your hands in the air!’

Three police cars parked strategically around the front of the gas station. The alarm had been activated and the police were called in. There had been a spate of break-ins and they had finally caught the culprit in the act. Firearms used in the previous two robberies made the police nervous. They guarded themselves behind squad cars where the faint smell of body odour and heated engine oil mingled. Neighbours awakened by the early dawn invasion gathered cautiously outside their homes to observe the commotion.

‘Do you hear me? This is Police Officer Brody. Come out with your hands up!’

The door opened slowly, revealing a small laced-up boot. The officers dropped down behind their vehicles, guns cocked.

‘Please don’t shoot,’ a quiet trembling voice responded.

The door opened a little further and an elderly woman hobbled out. She was stooped low and walked with a cane.

‘What the…?’

‘Ma’am, please step out into the open and put down your….. cane.’

She dropped the cane and raised her hands as far as her skinny arms would allow. Officer Brody stepped forward to access the situation. He motioned Police Officer Mandy Walters to carry out a search. Brody steadied the shaken old lady with his powerful hand under her elbow. Officer Walters placed the crooked walking stick back into an arthritic hand. She obviously didn’t want to embarrass the startled petite woman any further by searching her.

With an indignant expression, the woman faced the officer in charge. ‘I think there has been a mistake. You see, I left my keys in the bathroom and when I went back in I noticed I had grease on my skirt.’ She rubbed at the spot on her weathered skirt.

‘I tried to wash it, but I had to take it off because the skirt wouldn’t reach the faucet. I locked myself in so no one would disturb me. Unfortunately, I think the nice man at the counter must have closed up for the night and didn’t realize I was still there.’

‘Where is your car, ma’am?’

‘Oh! No sir! I don’t own a car. That’s my motorcycle.’ She lifted her cane and pointed with her bent fingers past the squad cars and confused police officers. A Harley Davison sheltered under an ancient oak tree glistened in the morning sunlight.

‘Ma’am, I find this all hard to believe. Tell me how you were in there all night without triggering the alarm?’

‘Well, you see…. I sat on the toilet seat to adjust my tights and I slipped off into the corner. I was stuck and didn’t have the energy to get up until this morning. When I left the bathroom I was aware that I couldn’t get out so I shook the door. That pesky alarm just kept screaming at me.’

Brody scratched his head, completely mesmerized while she shuffled towards the Harley across the road. She mounted the motorcycle with a little difficulty, but unwavering. She placed an opened-face helmet over her greying, outdated hairstyle.

Using her key, the engine started up with a roar. Poking the cane into a side pouch, she flipped the kickstand up and drove off in one smooth movement. Officer Brody glanced at a smug-faced Walters before replacing his gun into its holster.

‘What are you looking at? You can do the report when we get back.’

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Where Did I Leave My Humour?

Do you know where I left my humour? It must be around here somewhere. I had it yesterday. I’m sure I did. How could I have lost my humour?

It’s always been a part of me. I’ve never gone anywhere without it. I have used it every day. Humour is one of those possessions I thought I would always have. How could I have lost it?

I could have left it in the fridge, like I misplace my cup of coffee yesterday. Perhaps it’s in the laundry cupboard or in the ironing basket. Surely I wouldn’t have left it laying around for the dog to chew. Perhaps I left it under the bed. I haven’t looked there for days. Where could my humour be?

Probably it’s gone forever, like the coins that slipped through the hole in my purse. Maybe it’s gone down the kitchen sink, just like my favourite ring. I don’t know why I’d put it down—not even for a moment. Maybe it’s in the garden. I could have left it there when I found that poor dead bird. Or did I leave it someplace else?

Perhaps I left my humour in my journal. I’d been trying to hide my pain and cope alone. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my misery, so I poured it out to God. It might be in my Bible, somewhere in the Psalms, possibly in chapter 23—between the shadows of death and fearing no evil. But, why would I have left it there?

I checked my emails before I went to bed hoping I would find my humour there.

A stranger said I’d made them laugh with a story I had written.

Wendy said she was missing me and I had always made her day.

A cute little puppy greeted me. He was on an eCard sent by a Val. It made me grin but it was the words that got to me: shoulders to lean on and hands to hold, hugs to comfort too.

Do you think my humour is closer than I think?

Wait one minute! It must be around here somewhere. Last night that movie made me laugh and I saw the funny side when hubby dropped his cookie into his cup of tea. My son gave me a picture book of elephants at the beach. It’s amazing how some silly photos encourage you to smile. How could I have missed it?

Suddenly I realized I hadn’t lost it. I had it all along. I guess it’s like a simple smile—I just had to put it on.

© Chrissy Siggee

– a long time ago.

Me and My Writing….

I don’t care what people say

It’s time to look the other way.

If I want to write – I will

with or without a copyright.

 

Poems, fiction and mysteries,

for children and adults.

Whatever takes my fancy – oh yeah…

It’s what I like to do.

 

My grammar may not be perfect

and rhyme is not my forte

But whatever I write –

I write with all my heart.

 

Grandchildren love my nonsense,

Friends enjoy a jingle.

I only write for them and those

Who enjoy my writing most.

 

© Chrissy Siggee

Roof Top Dancing

tap, tap, tap…

thud, thud,

bump bump.

 

repeat

 

There is someone on my roof…

It sounds like they are dancing.

 

tap, tap, tap…

thud, thud,

bump bump.

 

repeat

 

I wonder if this roof is dance-proof…

It wouldn’t be for elephants prancing.

 

tap, tap, tap…

thud, thud,

bump bump.

 

Repeat

 

Who is dancing on my roof?

Toward the eaves they’re now advancing.

 

tap, tap, tap…

thud, thud,

bump bump.

 

repeat

 

I sneaked a peek to find the proof…

To do this, it took some chancing.

 

tap, tap, tap…

thud, thud,

bump bump.

 

repeat

 

There is someone dancing on my roof!

— It’s three galahs belly-dancing.

 

© Chrissy Siggee

I’m Daddy’s Little Princess

I spilt my juice twice this morning,

before I went to school—

It was mother’s final warning;

I broke her golden rule.

 

In class I found an old crayon,

I used it on the wall.

My teacher—she did carried on;

She didn’t like my scrawl.

 

There’s a boy in school—he won’t share,

his name is Peter Kirk…

He scribbled a word on my chair;

he really is a jerk.

 

At lunch I told him he was rude,

I got the blame for that smut!

He said I had an attitude,

So, I kicked him in the butt.

 

I hid behind the toilet block,

ripped the ears off his bear,

and stayed out there ‘til two o’clock—

Call my mum—I don’t care.

 

At three I went home on the bus

and thought about my day—

My brother made an awful fuss,

I think I’ll run away.

 

Oh no! there’s Mum tapping her foot;

She’s waiting at the gate

I wonder now—should I stay put,

or take my daily fate.

 

But Mum…it wasn’t really me,

That’s all I can recall—

I’m Daddy’s little princess see,

and he won’t mind at all.

 

© Chrissy Siggee