I walked into the station to report a theft
Can I describe the item stolen? Why, yes:
Days of medium length. Light winds off the ocean.
Breezes outdoors in the sun with friends.
Faith in free expression and common sense.
My grandson’s first kick.
The sound of music while walking down the street.
A future for my family: work, play, hugs, joy.
The worst part of the robbery
Was when I shouted “Stop! Thief!”
And the cops threw a blanket on my head
And thumped me until I stopped shouting.
Hearts attacked, hearts broken. Hours and days tick on.
There’s no “pause” button as we all stop, fatten, ache, Spend dazed hours waiting on electronic deposits
That never come. Of course, there’s no one on the phones.
No one can deduce the curve.
Nothing’s flat except our affect.
No one knows what’s being measured,
Changing from centimeters to ounces
While moving the endpoint of the tape.
And somehow the Spring they stole
Was taken voluntarily at gunpoint
Because we were more afraid of dying
Than of not living. Death just grins and waits
Somewhere past the end of stolen Spring.