I never heard him.
He was stealthy as that
full moon that judged us
from afar with cool
impartial eye, as
he slipped behind me and
requested my money.
I was impressed with
his manners; he spoke
softly like a lover
who merely needed
something I could bestow.
I understood that
he would not take my purse;
I would open it,
I would give him all
he said he wanted.
He’d promised not to hurt me.
Then he fled like the
February wind
that rushed into the
vestibule to fill
the void he’d left with
swift departure.
He disappeared as
magically as he’d come,
a modern Mercury,
messenger from an
underworld I could
not fathom, in black
skin and blue Nike wings.
Later in the line-up
his eyes, blinded by
the one-way mirror,
gazed deeply into mine
as he saw only himself,
not remembering
that date in the lobby
when his same glance and
head averted themselves
to avoid this moment
he surely must have foreseen,
when once again my
own eyes would hold his
shame and know his soul,
not an evil soul,
as though we’d lain naked
together, sharing more than
brief moments in a hallway.
The random act connected us
forever and I knew him
absolutely, knew
just why he did it.
Concatenate seconds
chained him to his victim,
bound him closer
to his humanity
than he’d ever been before.
He’d learned no better way.
And I have gotten verse from him
while he may serve his year.