I was baby sitting when a scene erupted in the neighborhood
made my heart to skip a beat and my reflexes duck for cover.
Special Forces, battalion size, swarmed the block
their engines roaring, the goons shouting.
"Double damn," I cursed, someone's tipped them off.
Fortunately, they had not come for me nor my family,
but rather to confiscate the helicopter illegally parked next door,
and three houses down from it an unregistered half-track
in Mr. Ali Baba.'s living room.
The troops gone, I hid the Uzi the outhouse.
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