Stealing

=Stealing=

The most unusual thing I ever stole? A snowman. Midnight. He looked magnificent; a tall, white mute beneath the winter moon. I wanted him, a mate with a mind as cold as the slice of ice within my own brain. I started with the head.

Better off dead than giving in, not taking what you want. He weighed a ton; his torso, frozen stiff, hugged to my chest, a fierce chill piercing my gut. Part of the thrill was knowing that children would cry in the morning. Life's tough.

Sometimes I steal things I don't need. I joy-ride cars to nowhere, break into houses just to have a look. I'm a mucky ghost, leave a mess, maybe pinch a camera. I watched my gloved hand twisting the doorknob. A stranger's bedroom. Mirrors. I sigh like this--Aah.

It took some time. Reassembled in the yard, he didn't look the same. I took a run and booted him. Again. Again. My breath ripped out in rags. It seems daft now. Then I was standing alone amongst lumps of snow, sick of the world.

Boredom. Mostly I'm so bored I could eat myself. One time I stole a guitar and thought I might learn to play. I nicked a bust of Shakespeare once, flogged it, but the snowman was strangest. You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?

Carol Ann Duffy