Security

This poem is a little less gloomy, I hope.  (By the way, if there are any thieves out there who know where I live, this is just a poem.  My alarm system is actually armed to the teeth- and I have a vicious dog as well.)

                                                              Security


                                                Is just a sign in the front yard.
                                                I’ve stopped arming the system
                                                each time I leave (it was such
                                                a bother), so I hope any
                                                burglars in the neighborhood
                                                come to the front door,
                                                are easily discouraged,
                                                and are not illiterate.
                                                (I have great faith in
                                                the power of the written
                                                word.) By now, I’ve forgotten
                                                the exact procedures and
                                                can’t remember the secret
                                                place I hid the manuals
                                                so thieves can’t read them,
                                                but at least they are safe,
                                                wherever they might be.

                                                My worst nightmare is coming home
                                                to find the alarm somehow armed
                                                in my absence
                                                and all ready to ring
                                                while I desperately punch in
                                                all possible passwords and codes:
                                                birth dates, anniversaries,
                                                old addresses, grade point
                                                averages, the phone numbers
                                                of old girlfriends
                                                until the police arrive
                                                with sirens and searchlights
                                                and bullhorns and helicopters
                                                to arrest me for mental
                                                vagrancy and lock me up
                                                until I remember
                                                who I am.