May 19, 2010
By , LaSalle, CO
The man shuts the door
I can hear it from my home,
in the village.
Through skinny streets,
with his sneaker shoes he goes.
I taste the man's aftershave,
while he makes his way to the market.
A woman's scream freezes the crowd.
The man moves through the mush of costumers,
as he has stolen from the generous gentle lady
Police are surely looking and looming.
He hides his head as the officers pass
The jingling jangling keys tell him they are gone
The dirt whispers to me that he is gone.
The thief is free.

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RAAAHX said...
Feb. 4, 2016 at 3:50 pm
nice poem.Ill be happy to see more of your poems
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