Pilferage
In the sun, the rain, everyday
She stood in wait, to be taken away.
Her guide, her master, the charioteer
Embraced the breath that choked the year;
He will never touch her insides again.
They eyed her livery, the passers-by.
With the months, they knew
There was no one to call her their own.
They came to her as dusk fell,
On the wings of a pretext –
A smoke or gasp of breath by her side.
A tug, gentle and firm. Unloved, she yields a little.
A little, unpaid for, is enough. They flee.
Little by little, she bleeds on the street.