Under the influence of
another boy,
(could I really think myself
truly innocent?)
I reached under
the doormat for the key
we both knew was there.
thinking no one is watching,
believing ourselves to be
invisible, we moved inside
without concern for the trespass;
we were invincible.
we weren't doing anything wrong
in our own minds.
into the kitchen, we greeted the parakeet
before seeking out the cookie jar.
will we find homemade chocolate chip
or store-bought Oreos--
or cash hidden in
plain sight?
we picked up stray items, examined
someone else's belongings.
what if someone else did this to us,
entered our parents' house,
touched our things,
inspecting for value not always
monetary.
we had minutes.
we had hours, if we wanted them,
to intrude into the lives
of neighbors who called us friends.
what secrets were kept--and where--
and why.
three bedrooms:
parents, boys'.
we pick up,
examine, cherish, imagine,
bicycle helmet and baseball glove,
soccer ball, (the same
one we've used in neighborhood pickup games--
then replace evidence
of life outside our knowledge.
One girl resides here, but we
are too young to be interested
in anything about her.
at some point, without words,
we retreat just as carelessly,
oblivious to the clues we left behind,
out to the driveway
by the side door;
two would-be juveniles
leave the scene of the crime
except where it remains
in the back of our minds.
copyright (c) 2012 by the author
