Not given to car-breaking, didn't have
talent back when the rage was Model
T's and break & enter was made much
easier; but opportunity came my way
care of an indulgent oversight caused,
admittedly, by far too many irons in
the benign fires of idle speculation.
Returned from the Post Office – sending
items left by my dearest 'Postal Express'
to Sydney, encountered horses in the rain
not waiting at the gate on ceremony but
expecting entre to gourmet grazing; so
I act the Laird, courteously enquired
why, genteelly played time of the day.
The pair were well aware of my view of
their feasting – I purposely stop the
engine determined my perspective rules
fair at least – but as I closed the door to
remonstrate they moved away derisively
as if to suggest they already knew the
car doors had sympathetically locked.
So they had, and so it was – shocked
and amazed – now where oh where in
bloody blue blazes the spare key? Not
my car and still a mystery needless to
say; spent some time self-castigating
incipient stupidity, rued the power play
waited for a call of enlightenment.
Not forthcoming for the same reason
my love's forgetfulness had her mobile
phone on another plane also on the way
to Sydney! Thus coat hanger diplomacy
of the light fingered thief armed with
heavy duty pliers entertained – and I
rested, requited, palpably at peace ...
© 26 August 2010, I. D. Carswell