Thief of Hearts
March 24 2008


Do they really call this crime
victimless?
And how you wanted him caught,
but didn’t.
And how the best punishment
isn’t hard labour or life,
but as if he’d never existed
— banished
into nothingness.

How many fast-talking, back-slapping con-men
and grifters?
How many second story men
whose stories lost interest?
How many times were you stiffed
by the front man on an inside job;
who whispered, in your ear, sweet promises
and then, as slickly, was gone?

A pickpocket
brushing-up against your body in a crowd
slips in and out seamlessly,
stealing something precious
or sentimental
you’ll never even miss 'til he’s gone.
An art thief has an eye for beauty,
so who wouldn’t be flattered
who wouldn’t succumb?
So stylish, so cultured, so young;
a life painter, and you his muse
seduced by a silver tongue.
While the safe-cracker listens carefully
and has such exquisite touch.
With cool steely precision
he makes your tumblers rush
— dropping, one-by-one.
How he shuts his eyes, and his breathing softens
and he goes, unerring, to the secret spot
that renders you utterly helpless.

But what you really can’t resist
is the break-and-enter
the smash-and-grab.
As light on his feet as a cat,
he ignores alarms
and sneers at shattered glass.
Yes, there’s always damage.
And breaking-in
things get broke.
And the sense of violation
never fully goes.
But you find the excitement addictive,
. . . and you find yourself craving more.