poem
to the one who jacked up my car in order to steal my catalytic converter, but then didn’t
Not sudden flash of conscience nor your flight
will save you in the eyesight of the lord,
you know. He sees intents and purposes.
He knows the secret turnings of your heart,
and yea He looks not kindly down on quitters!
Far worse than theft, you’ve done but half a job
and then you’ve gone and done it poorly. While
for two long moonless nights this week my car
stood unattended off the ground you skulked
about and nursed that stitch in your side.
Now I can’t blame you (much) for running scared
the moment that you thought you heard footsteps
approach. I’d do the same if I were in
your place, which anyway I wouldn’t be —
I’d have had at least two lookouts, signals pre–
arranged, diversions, varied alibis,
a safe house. I’d have cased the joint so long
I’d know like family who parks their cars
here, license numbers, favorite foods; I’d know
their noses itched ten minutes before they sneezed
— but that’s entirely beside the point.
Whatever honor is among us thieves,
it’s not in getting caught. So by all means
do save yourself. But take a little pride!
Leaving tools about is just unprofessional.