Alley way
painted in orange
street light,
cars on either side
sleepy, still
poem painted in still life
there's not much going on,
except, a figure in black
sneaking between cars,
he's knelt down, peers above
car hoods, into windows,
tries each lock, finds one
he likes, eases himself in,
hunched over in the front seat,
he's rocking almost imperceptibly,
sound of car starting shatters
night silence, the car rolling,
no lights, turns out slowly
on to one way street and gone,
alley silent again,
one extra light flicks on,
man appears, leans out, disappears inside,
feet on apartment steps,
the moon isn't visible from where I sit.
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