The Great Escape
Call yourself a cop
I’ll call myself a robber
Corner me in an outhouse
Call in your backups
Talk to me through bullhorns
“Come out with your hands up
We know you’re in there
Watching flies strafe dust particles
In sunlight shafts
Savoring the odor and the old news
“Come out or we’ll come in after you. “
Tension builds. No answer.
Anti-climax hero cop makes a perfect photograph
An eyeball peeking through a knot hole.
I’ve escaped
Down through the hole
Into the real world
From Poems of the New Old West
Copyright©2002, Jack Purcell
So Far From Heaven 
I actually knew a guy who lived in a little shack just like the one pictured. I invited him to Thanksgiving dinner one year.