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.