Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Poetry · Crime/Gangster · #2062297
Thieves steal my car.
I was talking to the police
after my car was stolen,
two of them, high as bar cells
and sergeants to be,
all in black for the occasion.
All I wanted was my car,
that brand new Sonata,
white with fresh wax.
I had been loosed
to visit in-laws,
a firm believer in sacrifice.
I expected the police
to be this miracle force,
a whirlwind solving at will.
That’s not what happened
though, as life never quite
graduates from school.
At another time
I might have managed
a wry smile, yet
I was not strong enough
upon hearing an emotionless,
“We will do what we can do.”
They didn’t even shake my hand.
That was months ago,
and now I lie awake, cold,
thinking of thieves.
Still, I cannot help wonder
if some men are, ultimately,
better than they are.

30 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
© Copyright 2015 Don Two (dannigan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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