Breakfast with Seat Belts and Traffic Lights

Some days are like that…
I was sitting in a kitchen chair,
When a cop stopped me
And told me I went through a red light.
And it was a one-way street
And I was going the wrong way.
Plus, he says, I didn’t have my seat belt on.
Officer, as you can see,
I’m not even in my car.
Automatic as chewing gum, he said,
License and registration, please.
Officer I’ve got my pajamas on.
No pockets in the pjs,

If you catch my meaning.

And this kitchen chair model

Has no glove compartment
So I can’t put my hand on my registration.

Sir, please step out of the vehicle.
I’m sorry, officer,
There is no door
Then open a window
And crawl out through it.
Why can’t you do as the officer says?
Asked my wife, Gloria,
Sitting in a kitchen chair beside me.
Sir, please step out of the car.
Better do it dear,
The nice man looks serious.
I’m being stopped for driving a kitchen chair
And you’re advising cooperation?
Three more seconds, sir,
And I’ll have you for resisting…
That’s another 90 days in the slammer…
And don’t think I can’t make it stick.
Okay, okay.
I stood up from the chair.
Sir, put your hands behind your back.
The cold cuffs, tightening on my wrists,
Sent a shudder.
Three months later,
I stepped into the sunlight
And Gloria was there with two kitchen chairs
To take me home.