To Ma'am, with Love

He toiled over, day and night
The object that would start his plight
She'd finally see his point of view
And admit that he was right

Cutout letters scattered round
Plain white paper they are bound
Crooked, straight, both big and small
Speaks out loud without a sound.

The letter states in many ways
How they'll spend their rest of days
Quid pro quo she must agree
Her non compliance, how she pays

Her pictures scattered 'cross his wall
He stops to touch and kiss them all
He proudly eyes his finished work
And senses not his brazen gall

He sneaks out late to not be seen
His hat pulled low and trench coat green
Shadows are his friend that eve
His senses sharp and eyes are keen

He creeps up to her door on side
His mouth agape his eyes shine wide
His fingers trace the door and knob
He slowly slides the note inside

Inward smiles, job well done
He pats his back and feels he's won
Floating till his eyes caught glimpse
Of that which made him turn to run

The mailbox read a name unsure
The front was plain and lacked decor
But worst of all parked in the drive
A car with law paint on the door

His senses reeled his head did spin
Maggie must have moved again
The cops would surely find his prints
The end just now, it did begin

He walked away, his head hung low
He sneakers dragged his gait was slow
The breaking sun reached out to touch
The dark, its most elusive foe.


Roland Bontempo/40 Lines