It Never Comes Easy

Theft never comes easy.
It must first steal your heart,
turn you, as the cops say
about confession, the spy,
though means quite
something else.

Usually it is obvious:
the first stranger's wallet,
bills mugged in, ready
for each emergency,
each need, a fitted
proper future.

You take them out, the tens
on top, the fives and ones,
admire the honorific way
he arranged them,
small bills all,
almost a kind of love.

Your rage comes next,
the adding up, paltry
future you can't count on
if this is your present,
so you go to get even,
steal again, clean up

the mess you've made
of your own fresh start
wadded in the left front
pocket of your jeans.
Pop your knuckles, wait,
rob patience of its wit

Copyright © 2009 Robert Parham All rights reserved
from The Main Street Rag
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission