He twitches, and pouts, and stares.
He watches a man standing on a pile of dirt.
The man on the pile glares.
The first man, called a Thief, takes his pace: 1, 2, 3 down the line.
The second man, called an Ace, brushes his own pocket.
The Thief lifts his hand. He wrinkles his toes.
The Ace watches him, and walks down the hill.
The Thief is safe for now, but he doesn’t stay close.
He can’t stay here.
The Ace worries for the Thief’s safety:
The Ace worries for his own home.
He thinks the Thief will dash faster than a man can catch him.
That’s how thieves stay in business.
He’s got to stay around.
The Thief takes his extra paces now: 4, 5, 6.
He can’t see the Ace’s eyes, pupils barely out of sight.
But then the Ace turns around and looks at that Thief again.
He concedes a little more ground.
He scowls.
The Thief stares back.
He opens his hand, and closes it shut.
The Ace walks back up the hill.
He can see the Thief as clear as a June creek.
But he’s got other things on his mind.
by 