An evening with no policemen

It has been almost
many years
since an evening without policemen
or, for that matter,
a weekday beginning without
the Guardian Crossword.

Daybreak steps out of its rest,
shaking itself dry like a Labrador
and climbs, yawning, on his trek to the West.

Mid-morning, the bees hang out at the swamps
and are in the constant hum
of jazz musicians doing their scat exams.

The Labrador has lunched with the snails
with flies waiting by
to clear the remains.

Meanwhile, the frog who has worked all day
has built his villa in a trash can
since the soggy moss is here to stay.

The yellow dog hangs his yellow head
sending the birds to call in the moon,
he is about ready to go to bed.

In the balcony, I hear a cheer:
it’s the crickets sending out two men to the field
as a stadium of fireflies draws near.

It has been almost
many years
since an evening without policemen,
I don’t miss it now,
I didn’t request it then,
but I could do with the Guardian Crossword.