What do you do when the burglar winding in your window at night bellows, Call, call the police?

There were knives in the kitchen, sticks along the wall, a screw gun and the OED. 

Mother Earth sang a Capella when she cloned it ten. It could have been more. 

Then came the report: sleeper lurches naked to the bathroom door.

Yes the arm wound in the casement.

His bellows filled the neighborhood.

These were not Bloods in the wood, but him.

Troops came to their phones to call in strikes.

Orifices mauled the air.

The Military called as tentacles gnawed the screen.

Nothing worse was seen of paw or arm.

Just reaching then to yank its chain, it said: “CALL! GO AHEAD! CALL!”

  He dialed wrong.

Try again.

Angels took off their hats.

 “What is your emergency?”

“A burglar’s coming in my bathroom window.”

“Is he in? Is he in?”

He slammed down the phone.

It jumped up. “Stay on the line.”

“Stay on the line, stay on the line.”

It went dead. Auf Wiedersehen. 

It rang again.

“Please stay on the line.”

“You stay on the line!”

“We were disconnected.”

 Are you Eagin O’Arthur Flannigan Finn? Is this your number?”

 A computer pealed over the time.

“Do you have Blue Cross? Are you unemployed?”

Confetti blew out of the phone.

Before Finn could move again bottle rockets lit the lawn.

He opened the door with a frying pan.

A hatless uniform said, “Have you seen it, do you have a gun?”

Eyes widened.

Hands tightened. He had a pan.

They turned on the light but the snake had fled.

Pits and holes, bubble cars, plain cars, fire engines and a van.

Seven flashlights lit O’Arthur’s face.

A helicopter came.

“Did you report an emergency?

Adrenaline shot out of their ears.

What’s your name?

Do you know him?

An officeress threatened to cuff him for smart talk to her breast.

Fill in the card.

She begged for his social.

Fill in the card.

They chopped a hole in his shrubbery, felt the putty of his windows.

They chopped a hole, she chopped another.

Her arms were as bald as eggs.

The bay tree bleat like a mothy sheep

The helicopter beat its blades.

A car drove up.

“We got him!”

O’Arthur went down to the intersection for the view.

The felon was disarmed.

It was a Snake O’ Lantern.

Lights came out of its ears.

O’ Arthur took off his shirt.

The snake writhed its tongue and ruffled black scales.

The face was handsome.

The tongue flickered.

The smell was sticky.

The tail twisted.

Tentacles hung like arms.

“I just saw the one arm,” O’Arthur insisted. “I thought it was a snake but the fingers were popping.”

Patrolmen took prints.

Females took cards.

Men with boots stamped the yard.

Flashlights snapped to belts.

Patrol said, “if these prints are developed tonight they’ll be ready in six months.”

The snake went on to hibernate.

O’Arthur went to hydrate, closed the window, slept awake.