It was the tree that moved. -No, he
Moved, half-crouched, half-hidden behind the tree.
The black street is empty.
A match struck on his shoe. Sudden as fear
It flared. He straightened, and came on.
I swerved. He, too.
No one’s at home
Behind those crazed, blind windows; or, lurking there,
Stuff of the alleys, terror.
Scream sticks in my throat.
He tore my coat, grabbed, and was gone.
Wind in the leaves makes running footstep sounds.
Street Thief
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