Thief

Thief


Day and night,
One is colder,
  Both as bright



He walks up the sidewalk street,
  His white cane tapping back and forth before him,
Counting the blocks from the steps he walked down,
  Crossing the side streets, trusting by ear,
Along the familiar walk of fences and drives
  5 blocks, when
With his cane he rings the lamp post,
  His fingers feel about at the button for the crossing light,
For here he crosses Main Street,
  For him, this Rubicon or Styx
That marks the difference between
  Being in town, or coming home

Sometimes people offer to help,
“Can I help you? The light hasn’t changed yet,”
  And when it does they take him by the arm, stepping
Before the Pamplona bulls, huffing ready
  To use their horns if he’s not fast enough

Tonight and no one’s here this late,
  But he hears the cars come to a halt as
A mechanical mockingbird chirps
  ‘Four-way-stop! Four-way-stop!,’
And he believes, “Cross me over, Jesus,”
  In the warm arm of one leading, by his side

Home, cane first, steps second,
  Up the walk and up the steps,
No motion sensitive light turns on,
  He takes his key, unlocks his door,
No hall light beacons, no dark porch alights,
  All windows still the shade of the sunglasses he wears,
All remains dark, as when he was out,

  Yet you know he’s rattling around in there,
Head to the bathroom, what’s for dinner?
  Hello with a pat when he finds the old cat,
Same as you and I when we get home,
  Just him in the dark

And you know, someone will rob him,
  And time did bring that thief in the night

For a week later I saw his ashes poured straight in the ground,
  No urn, no ossuary, just cold gray early winter dirt,
And the grit and grim of what was him,
  A sight I can’t unsee