Homeland Security comes to Maple Street

Homeland Security comes to Maple Street
by David Benjamin

“And when you prosecute the parents for coming in illegally, which should happen, you have to take the children away.” — Donald Trump

“When you cross… illegally, when you commit a crime, you are taken away from your family because that’s how this country works.” — Corey Lewandowski

MAYBERRY, U.S.A. — Little Bobby Shaftoe and his mother were in a hurry, late for Bobby’s piano recital at the Mayberry Conservatory. They were halfway across Maple Street when they were halted by jolly Officer Muldoon.

“Faith and begorrah,” said the genial policeman, shaking a finger. “Shame on you now, Mrs. S. You know you shouldn’t be jaywalkin’ here.”

The flustered mom was just about to explain her rush when a strange figure entered the scene and took Little Bobby firmly by the hand. The woman, slim, blonde and stern of demeanor, said to Muldoon. “I’ll take over from here, Officer.”

While mother and cop stood dumbstruck, the interloper crouched down to face little Bobby and said, “Hi, sweetie-pie. I’m Dept. of Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen, and I’m here to take you away from your mom.”

“Why?” asked little Bobby, his blue eyes already filling with tears.

“Because your mother is a criminal, dear,” said the Secretary, gently. “She’s bringing you across Maple Street illegally, flouting the law of the land. Have you read Romans 13, Bobby?”

“But wait!” cried Mrs. Shaftoe.

“You’ll have your hearing, ma’am,” said the Secretary, standing straight again. “Any month now.”

“Now then, really,” said Officer Muldoon, “it’s only a wee bit of jaywalkin’.”

“Jaywalking today,” said the Secretary. “Tomorrow, MS-13 recruiters and pretty soon, little Bobby is gutting his fellow third-graders with Pancho Villa’s Bowie knife. We’re talking slippery slope here, Officer.”

Muldoon persisted. “But didn’t his royal majesty just sign an order about not takin’ the youngsters from their moms and pops?”

The Secretary smiled triumphantly. “Read the fine print, Officer,” she said. “that rule only applies to the Rio Grande. This is Maple Street.”

She crouched back down. “Don’t you worry, honey-bunch,” the Secretary said to the now weeping boy. “While your mother’s case drags slowly through the federal courts and your future is being determined by cynical, overworked functionaries at the Dept. of Health and Human Services, you’ll have a nice ‘Boys Town’ experience in the middle of the Texas desert, forty miles from any town, with a merry band of 200 bunkmates and two heaping servings a day of chipped beef on toast.”

“Oh dear God!” cried Mrs. Shaftoe.

The Secretary ignored this and said to Bobby, “Not to mention the invigorating morning calisthenics, your daily cigarette ration and our lovely communal pingpong table.”

Muldoon tried again. “But this is a quiet street. And it’s only a misdemeanor,” he said. “I was goin’ to give the lady a written warning.”

“Oh, she’ll get a warning, all right,” said the Secretary, bouncing back up to glare at Muldoon. “A warning she’ll remember for the rest of her childless life.”

Alarmed, Muldoon tried then to help Bobby and his mom, by force, across Maple Street.

The Secretary said, “Men!”

And sure enough, there were men, a whole bunch of them, big ones in dark brown uniforms, wearing badges and guns and Smokey the Bear hats. They took Officer Muldoon by the elbows and led him away, never to be seen again.

“You know, I don’t have to explain any of this to you, ma’am. You’re a felon and I’m Dept. of Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen, acting on authority from Attorney General Jeff ‘The Keebler-Cookie Elf’ Sessions and the veritable President of the whole goddamn United States. But I’ll tell you how things are going to go, you jaywalking, child-endangering scumbag.”

“Scumbag?” said Mrs. Shaftoe.

“My mommy’s not — ”

“Men!” snapped the Secretary. Instantly, one of them slapped a hand over little Bobby Shaftoe’s mouth.

“Illegal children should be seen, and not heard,” joked the Secretary. “Don’t you agree?”

“No!”

“Ma’am, I’ll make it clear. You are unlawfully crossing this street and you’re bringing your brat just as unlawfully and brazenly onto government-monitored pavement in an area where you’re not authorized ever to set foot — under the severest penalty of the legal authorities and Constitution of this sovereign nation.”

“But we were late for the piano — ”

“Lady, trust me. You will never play the piano again.”

“But I don’t play — ”

“Señora,” said the Secretary. “We will be taking your son, Roberto — ”

“It’s Bobby!” said Mrs. Shaftoe.

“Men!” shouted the Secretary. A large hand immediately covered the mother’s mouth.

“You’ll have a chance to talk, puta. But not here. Not now. I’m in charge here. Do you know what His Excellency, the Attorney General said?’

With a hand clamping her mouth, all the mother could do was shake her head.

“He said — and I quote — ‘People who cross Maple Street, or any other street, unlawfully bringing children with them… they can’t expect that they’ll always be kept together.’”

“He said that?” said the large man in sunglasses who was restraining Mrs. Shaftoe.

“Well, mas o menos,” said the Secretary. “Now, take the little wetback away.”

Instantly, three large men in black (with shades) carried little Bobby Shaftoe, wailing and kicking his feet, across Maple Street, past the Mayberry Conservatory and into a black van. His mother burst into screams and sobs.

“I know this seems harsh, especially for a penny-ante misdemeanor that nobody would notice if I hadn’t shown up to make a stink about it. But that’s the the only way to make America great again, muchacha. It’s a nasty, filthy, cruel and butt-ugly job. But somebody’s gotta do it. And just between us, señora, we sort of enjoy it, especially when we get to ambush the unsuspecting — like you — and pick on people who can’t fight back.”

“Yeah! Zero tolerance, baby!” added the thug in sunglasses. He high-fived the Secretary with his free hand.

Mrs. Shaftoe, desperate to retrieve her disappearing child, went limp, as though in surrender. Her captor loosened his grip.

“Madame Secretary, please,” she said through the man’s fingers. “I’ll accept the ticket. I’ll pay the fine. I’ll do community service. Even go to jail if I must. But please, let me cross Maple Street and go get my little boy. He must be terrif — ”

The Secretary speared Bobby’s mom with a withering gaze. “Lady, mark my words and memorize ‘em. Sabé?” she said. “You — and your kind, amiga — are never gonna cross Maple Street again — not as long as I’m defending the Fatherland and Donald J. Trump is your Crossing Guard in Chief.”