I Stole A Day
I stole a day today.
It was an outright theft.
I just took it and hid it away.
There was no planning,
There was no premeditation
just a simple burst of spontaneous larceny.
I wanted the day to myself, for myself,
and I was unwilling to share it,
so I grabbed it by surprise and ran with it.
I’ve never been a day stealer before,
Never contemplated the idea,
I’m not sure I’d do it again,
But I did it today and it was
profound and satisfying, like an artistic
triumph or a structure well-built.
But, alas, it’s now lost to history and I cannot show it off
or give it back.
It must remain my private criminal act.
Bob Sawyer died last summer, after 26 weeks of incarceration and weeks before his scheduled release. In “Why I Write,” a piece he wrote to accompany a poem of his in Rattle, he said there was a joy in choosing the right word or phrase and that the poetic universe invited him to express himself with freedom, diversity, and imagination.