Maia Taft

The Thief

The picture of innocence;

A child walks alone down the street,

He meets his friends at the corner

Standing in a circle; plotting,

Slaps a high five

Leaving his hand stinging.

Smell of excitement in the air;

His friends leave for a store,

The teen follows with no idea of the plan.

The group bursts open the doors;

Grabs the goods;

And runs out with the alarm blaring;

Commotion is overwhelming,

Running down a dark alley

All noise stops;

No one talks;

Splitting up,

The leader takes the prize,

Hides it under his black leather jacket,

Then disappears from sight.

The young adult walks home alone,

His hand still stinging,

Bitter, tangy taste of guilt lingers in his mouth,

Dragging his feet

As his innocence drifts away.




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