Minor Crimes

We tried a little mild vandalism

like turning the lights off hard,

slamming a sandwich together,

commanding the bus to fuck off

with a slap. It didn’t feel right but

maybe nothing felt right, snow

expected but now nearly stacked

to the higher floors of richer

buildings, where a dim old man

awaited the trickle of soup from

a ladle. It’s impossible to recall

what my boots looked like or

how many times my forgotten

wool scarf needed to be looped,

or even where I held money so

that when a gust blasted off

the lake it didn’t turn into yet

another sky-vaulting pigeon.

We thought about attempting

some embezzlement but that

sounded so intimate nobody

could consider it controversial.

Once I took a half rack of new

clothes onto the bus and kids

thought I was plain sick, then

I had to walk two blocks while

the hangers played their knife

game. But somehow neither of

my hands hurt from that now.


Also by Mary Biddinger

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