He comes and goes
under cover of darkness,
even on a sunlit day,
the soft click click click
of his bike gears
often the only sound
giving him away
when he wheels it,
scowling and stomping,
under my window
because he does
not like to work.
It’s a shame, really,
considering
his native intelligence,
uncultivated and neglected,
despite the myriad
advantages that
ripened and fell, plum-like,
onto the green grass
around him while
he idled on the lawn
outside the modest but clean
white vinyl-sided house
where he grew shabby
and thick with weeds.
His few friends--
partners in crime,
his mother joked
each night when he came in
--might have considered
his descent a warning,
had they grown up
in a town worth
staying in--or even
a town worth leaving.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: TheoLeo via Pixabay
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