The Perfect Crime
Tripping through the gnarled-root,
Dense forest. Mid thirties.
Shelving plans. High demands.
High tariff, frequency
Low. Esteem in decline.
I met a thief who'd done
The perfect crime. Stealing
Time. "Quintessentially
Working class", he declared.
Pint in hand. Chair tipped back.
Sweater from BHS.
Attitude from his Dad.
"She was driving me mad".
His hair was receding.
His paunch filled the sweater.
"So I'm off to Bahrain.
But I will miss the kids".
And I thought of my own.
High cost. Half grown. Full time.
I bought us another.
Somehow he seemed different.
Like he'd glimpsed the light through
The canopy. In control,
The way we used to be.
High octane. Low mileage.
