The Unforgiven Theft


It was a dream as such; I have since thought of much

Becoming a clumsy crutch, I could not have had it much more

It occurred while I slept so fast, staying around when sleep was past

I never wished for it to last, until there was no sleep no more

Even awake and out of the bed and even through the door

Chafing my nerves and calling my name with a roar


I woke with a start sitting upright, seeing darkness I suspected night

For that was the pattern for fright, I could hope for but not ignore

It crawled and crept into my spine, reason, it devoured mine

Bending it from a straightened line, swells my brain with hope of no more

Never to end a chilling tale of fearful lore

Instead faced with its remaining forever, forever a chore


It started out with a lightning bolt, with my high pitched scream, a frightening jolt

Then the thought of a murderous dolt, a wretched revenge seeking whore

Who stood at my window to seek, and so gleefully watching me

Cackling with such a rampant glee, her eyes with fire into me bore

Her hair flattened with rain, dripping and leaning into the door

Standing and grinning and laughing and watching me more


I cringed deeply into my covers, scrunched my pillows like those of new lovers

But nothing could seal the pain that hovers, of seeing her face at the door

Wrinkled, so terribly wretched, so close to me and detested

Nothing could hide while I nested, nearby in blankets by the door

Finally exhausted I threw over the blankets and crossed over the floor

Unlocked the lock and opened the door


I looked high and low for the witch; thinking she had come from the ditch

Where I had encountered with a hitch, some horrible thing twice before

Some bones that were still bearing flesh, that seemed to me to be still fresh

Trapped below the silvery mesh, once moving, not so anymore

Perhaps it had once been my own broken screen door

Covering the rotten meat and nothing more


On another day inside of a week, on yet another trip down by the creek

I poked around to see beneath, the screen once framed in with the door

The grotesque rotten meat as it lies, covered by a large swarm of flies,

Alarmed by me they took to flight, wise I was and I looked no more

I ducked and I ran without stopping right up to my door

Opening my eyes but not wanting to explore


For it took many days and a week, for an end to the flies did I seek

They followed my flight from the creek, from dining under the screen door

Alongside they flew as I tried, into my house I flew to hide

But they stayed right with me beside, fast I ran and could do no more

I was thinking ahead of going through and then slamming the door

But into the decreasing crack they did pour


Into my flesh they tore and they did eat, such was their cause in the unpleasant heat

They bit and harassed me as sweet, until no end and then quite sore

Collapsed at last, I seek relief, but the flies gave me yet more grief

They tore at the flesh of a thief, through my clothes and skin they did bore

With the tiniest of mouthbits into my skin they tore

I thought they would eat forever and more


When I awoke I knew what had been done, there was no peace for me, for such as one

Who would steal from a pitied someone, a maid who was continually poor?

Just because of the opportune ease, swiping her ham while down on her knees

Not yet aware of my quickened seize, and gone before she rose from the floor

Having removed myself by stepping lightly through the open back door

Running so quickly alongside of the store


But of one person I was not aware, who stood off to the side, hidden over there

Saw me pick up the woman’s meat without care, and jump for the open back door

Fast as I thought that I might be, soon the officers came to see

Frisking and spying upon me, I ridded myself of it before

They tore at my home and ripped it to shreds until their backs were sore

It was dark and I admitted no more


In the still of the night it was clear, that I was not the only one here

Outside stood the officer who was near, who had seen my flight out of the door

Carrying my goods, a stolen ham, then took flight, quickly on the lam

Knowing my innocence a sham, he stood by the creek quite bored

Fighting the flies that were gathering in a mass under the door

To my house from the creek that they tore


So incensed at my innocence known; my door he threw it bodily with a groan

Quite unaware that his feat was shown, of anger given to my screen door

Had covered his evidence to seek, lying deeply still in the creek,

Leaving his case on me thus weak, never attempting a peek or more

For the meat under the screen door, that I had stolen before

Now covered with flies and some rancid gore


The officer stayed all night and a day; I thought never would he go away

I peered at him through my windows at his stay, and then through my now opened door

Missing the screen torn from the hinge, complements of his angered binge

His own hot hostility singed as he stood nearly on my door

Preceding the face of the woman, the ever present whore

Looking around but not down no more


He waited for me to make a move, a slip of sense that he would approve

Hoping his chances catching me and prove, in hand with the meat would then soar

Deep into weeds so thickly grown, in the creek haphazardly thrown,

Before being grabbed so quickly, thrown up and then pressed by my door

Where he stood as a sentinel just a few feet not much more

While flies ate at his ankles until he could stand it no more


The second night, by the woman I awoke, seeing her behind the door that was broke

So close to its window she spoke, because of the missing screen door

Without my being hesitant, true and honestly repentant

Making me miserable and spent, confessing to the guilt that I bore

While staring at the woman who cackled, giggled, and laughed at me more

I who lay fly bitten spread onto the floor


Such were my actions every morning I woke, to no one I saw but most surely I spoke

I talked to only air that was broke, without breathes inside of the door

I confessed to walls all around, to dead flies in heaps on the ground

Their buzz a mass of chilling sound, echoed on both sides of the door

My skin will no longer heal from the sores

Guilt and regrets fester and run forever out of my pores.


Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
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