"What shape were the missiles
Which smashed through your patio window?"
asks the policeman.
"Round," says the woman.
"Round? Do you mean spherical?"
"Yes, spherical missiles."
"So we're talking balls?"
"We're talking a lot of balls."
"How much balls are we talking?"
"In Roman numerals,
We are talking vee-one-one-one balls."
"I make that eight balls, in new money."
"The indication is, officer, that the balls
Were deliberately energised
By local feet."
"In your perception, madam,
How many local feet energised the balls?
"I make that eight feet, in new money."
"Yes, you do."
"So that's an average
Of one foot energising each ball."
"How long in Roman numerals
Did it take all eight balls
To penetrate your fenestration?"
"About nought point one-vee seconds."
"So the balls arrived in quick succession?"
"Yes, It was a tightly coordinated attack of balls."
"Does this happen a lot in the village?"
"It happens several times a week, officer."
Doris Carruthers was in her greenhouse
Doing her nasturtiums
When eight tightly coordinated balls
Crashed through her roof
And showered her with vitreous debris."
"Is there a recognisable pattern
To the attacks?"
"Yes, officer, there is.
The first three balls
Come in an isosceles triangle formation,
And the remaining five
Follow closely behind
In a perfect pentagon."
"So the attacks aren't random?"
"No. In every observed case
There has been
A rigorous geometrical precision about them."
"I don't know what to suggest, madam."
"I suggest, officer,
That we get out of bed
And have a nice cup of tea."
The police are very good
The mean streets
Under the radar
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