The fed's at my door, saying, they're after my puns.
They say Brandon claims, they're  much worse than guns.
You've got to be kidding, I say with a grin.
This is no joke, they say, barging in.
Where's your computer, they ask, looking around.
Look on the desk, I say, where computers are found.
Don't be a smart ass, says one, you've got enough trouble.
You're soon gonna learn, you don't live in a bubble.
They took my computer, my I-pad and phone.
Without those three items, I felt ascared and alone.
They took all my paper, my pencils and pens.
With deadpan expressions and wore out, evil grins.
With all my stuff, they were ready to go.
I'm going to sue, I said, I just want you to know.
They threw me to the floor and booted me some.
Saying, we can return any time, you conservative scum.
You'd best take us seriously, you'd best understand.
If we catch you writing again, we'll cut off your hands.
Can this really happen? What do you think?
I'd best knock on wood. I type, with a wink.
D.L. Crockett – 2/21/22