The Burglary

jewels-gold-coins-28313059

We purr in cool leather boots,
slip on gloves, our double skins.
We are seen in the first garden
by not my mother but an anxious lookalike,
hair blowing the wrong way,
streaked across one eye like brandy-butter
on the other side of the street.
We move through the garden like nightfall,
panther-slick, with daggers in our pockets.
I wave with one dark hand.
Hush, listen, crouched at the mouth
of the letterbox– how the red pulse thrashes,
minnows slapping in blood-nets.
Even the moon has a bloodshot eye.

A hot night, the windows widen–
astonished eyes, doors gasping in frames
where sodium lights boil bright
in the secret hours, every home a prisoner
numbered with brass. We spit ourselves
in through the windows, cats on leathered pads,
and ransack the house–
uprooting shadows and LCD,
pocketing jewels, our smooth green eggs.

Somewhere, deep in the bedroom,
a woman dressed in aching silk
lies awake next to the bookcase,
watching over the things no one takes:
a couple of crinkled paperbacks,
crushed lipsticks.
Alarmed by the shape of her shadow,
I pocket her pearls and run.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s