happy on skateboards
new fringe of moustache
roll past frogs and earnest fences
stilled in the dusk
away from home with beds
with chilling towers of options
chilling absence of means.
Sun slides down with whispers
and squirrels are quiet in their leafy nests
yellow black and fat
neighbours are gone
(respite from renos, respite from home).
Here in the back shadows are long
light a match
remember the code
drop the old bikes.
sneaker-stealthy as city cats.
There is a face on the other side of the fence
a face breathing through a screen
breathing in night shadows:
What triggered the light?
black cat on the stoop
raccoon or summer drunk skunk?
No, just two burgling boys
spiriting away new bikes
(packs of old tools, new toys)
their chilling tower of options
thrown down (old bikes)
discarded in the ally
beside frogs and earnest fences
on the ground.
The heavily armoured officer
arrives with a prayer and a pistol
a note pad and pencil
time, date, light, age
the generations of tools spirited away
back packs hidden under youthful beds
impossible to trace
but maybe, just maybe
perhaps to be caught with stolen means.
The armoured officer lifts her eyes:
Will this be the code to the rest of their lives?
By Lutia Lausane, copyright Just Peachy Productions, 8 September 2017