Outside The Café Poem by Gert Strydom

Outside the Café
where I was having coffee,
a red BMW without number plates
died on the driver
and was flashing lights
and its hooter went off.

Inside of it I saw a face
of a ugly white man,
with a wig upon his head
and the look in his eye
spelled out dread.

Be careful
he’s got a gun,
the café’s owner warned
and I looked away
as if the man was not there.

Thrice I called
that one zero triple one number
from my cell phone
and no police did appear,
while the criminal was near
as if my calls was in vain.

No cars are available
they said
and on the next morning,
a squadron of police
was knocking my door down
and eight cars and a helicopter
was waiting outside.