Dear ineffectually disguised intruder, dear
close call way out of turn, could you not have
thought of a better excuse when the police
doing Segway rounds caught you— having just
cleared the jutting-out branch of the maple,
having just jimmied the second floor front
windows of the neighbor, the ones that open
into atrium space clear from the balcony above
to the floor below? You didn’t know about
the thirteen foot drop, the jumble of plants
in pots by the door, the sharp cacophony
of broken terra cotta. Obviously you
had other things in mind— art work
in expensive frames on the wall;
a bedroom safe, shiny jewelry, small
appliances, cash found in a drawer:
anything, anything else but that.
—Luisa A. Igloria
10 10 2011