The house-thief strikes
When I lay the scissors down,
Vanishing them under whatever scarf
Is most forgettable.
I disassociate from room to room, and
I check the counter three times.
But the house-thief has snatched them
And dragged them down to that
In-between space,
That maybe-it’s-behind-the-stove place,
Where I’m sure my lost sock went,
The one with the penguins having tea,
And the spare key to the strange part of my yard,
Where just a small patch of grass grows.
I sigh. I rotate and stare at the window,
And I say, a little too loudly
For being alone,
“Hey! If only I had my scissors,
I could wrap a present FULL
Of spare keys and socks –
And maybe even some glittery rocks –
But I guess that I can’t. Oh well.”
And I pause.
Then I turn halfway, and there,
The house-thief skitters by!
I catch a glimpse of
Flashing eyes, and little wings – and there
Lie my scissors, askew on a chair,
On top of a scarf, the forgettable one
I’d forgotten about.
“Wow! There it is!” I say,
And I smile and take them up with much pomp.
I go and take five left socks,
And two old keys to a diary
Long left behind, and four rocks layered
With the colors of the sunset,
And half a bologna sandwich
From the fridge.
I wrap and tie the offering with a bow,
And leave it by that same window,
Then pause.
I swivel at just the right time
To see the house-thief carry it off,
And confirm what I thought I saw –
A dragon-girl, maybe five,
With crimson wings and marble eyes,
And a long, scaly braid.
In a flash she’s gone, scurried back
To her in-between place,
That maybe-behind-the-stove, or
In-that-cabinet-above-the-fridge space,
Towing my present to add
To her hoard of precious things,
With it clenched between her pointed teeth –
