We found out yesterday that 5 of the camp’s canoes had been stolen. According to rumor, they were cut up and sold to the scrap metal place. The complete waste of this just blows my mind. If you’re going to go to all the work to steal something that big, at least make some money off of it! Their total profit couldn’t have been more than a fifth of the value of one canoe, and probably not worth the work the person put into stealing them.
On a totally unrelated note, this evening I said to Roger, “I feel like writing a grand and wonderful poem. What should I write about?” He answered, “Theft.”
I don’t think that’s a topic that begs to be made into a grand and wonderful poem. But I wrote about it anyway.
has a romantic ring to it
when my heart is the stolen article
and you – the sole conspirator behind the plot
unlike thievery of my possessions
(which I value far less)
in the darkness of midnight
or an abandoned moment
maybe the charm of it
is that you, while my heart was still guarded,
waltzed right in
and grabbed it, savored it,
took it right out from under my nose
while i was watching.
i never even felt the loss…
the beauty of it
is that in spite of taking everything i had,
my most treasured possession,
(in part because you also stole my
loneliness, insecurities, fears)
you left me feeling as if
i’d made a fair trade.