poem for the pickpocket

now that I remember you

          stopping me           to ask for directions

          opening          the          map           and

          having me                      hold one side

        while you went to work

    under cover,

let me apologize

               for only having           twelve dollars (12) cash

and warn you

               against trying to use any of the credit cards

          because they were maxed out

                    months ago

            and are part of the bankruptcy now

— I only carry them around to feel

                   less broke than I am, and

                         really you can have them.

You will find the Barnes & Noble

gift card is still worth its full

value of twenty five dollars

     but the Dunkin Donuts card

     has less than a cup of coffee’s

     worth left on it … I believe the 2

     Cracker Barrel gift certificates

     have expired, even though

     they don’t have a printed expiration

     date on them.

The rest of the cards, my driver’s license,

my work ID, my library card

and such, may be valuable to you

if you are not just a pickpocket

but gifted in forgery as well.

If you do try to pass as me,

here are a few pointers to help.

My last name is tricky,

so practice spelling and

pronouncing it, and be sure

to stress the vowels. Also

my mother’s maiden name

was Diaz and I never had a

childhood pet. All my passwords

are the same and they

contain a Latin quote and

the most beautiful part of the

Fibonacci sequence. Lastly,

I’d like to ask that you please

return to me the lock of hair I

carried with me (it belongs

to my first son from his

first haircut) and the clear

piece of plastic next to it

(I’ll explain that one later).

And thank you for leaving

behind something worth telling.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.