the lilac thief

She is aghast
as I explain that once each year,
just about now,
I drive slowly through the neighbourhoods casing likely targets,
and when I find one,
I park just across the street and walk over
with a great inner calm.
I use the very sharpest snips possible,
and cut one, two,
but never more than three clumps
of perfectly bloomed purple lilacs,
then move on
until the lead-heavy scent
inside the car makes me almost dopey.
I bring them home
and arrange them in vases,
place them where they will find afternoon light.

But, she cries,
that is just wrong!
Lilacs belong to all the people.
Yes, I say. Yes.
And I am one of the people.


Young Dawkins