Last night I dreamt you were a robber
with a poem carved in your chest.
It matched the one on the door
you kicked in when you came to take my jewels.
Surprising you, I returned;
I found you in the midst,
and stripped you one by one of what was mine.
Rings I took, yanking from your fingers,
and neck-gold, silver,
opals mine again in anger, and with my fist
I hit you in your lying mug
again and a thousand times,
a lesson –
you should have known my schedule.
