On the Alberta/Montana Border: The Knife-alyzer

A man who juggles for his dough,

Was driving off to his next show,

A traffic stop soon halted him,

A cop approached, all fit and trim…

“I’m sorry for the wait,” said he.

A lumber wagon lost a tree.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” the juggler said,

“I’ve till tonight to earn my bread.”

The cop leaned on the window then,

Ready for a talk ‘tween men,

Then by mistake or just by chance,

He gave the car’s back seat a glance,

And saw, displayed for all to see,

A dozen knives just laid there; free.

A hand upon his copper’s gun,

“What’s with the knives?” (His good mood done!)

The juggler simply shrugged and said,

“They’re for my act. They keep me fed!”

The cop said, “That you’ll have to prove…

So come out here and show your moves!”

The juggler clambered from his car,

Scooped up the knives (and scimitars),

And struck a stance there with a sigh,

As cars and trucks went streaming by,

Then, to the cop, his talent showed,

As through his hands those weapons flowed.

Meanwhile, on the thoroughfare,

A car went past the two men there,

The driver, told his passenger,

As wide-eyed, he glanced o'er at her,

“I’m glad, my drinking, I’ve deferred,

Sobri’ty tests are now absurd!”

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.com

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?