When I was three, I was a criminal.
I was a shoplifter and a thief.
I would crawl out of a window with broken glass in the pane, and run the streets.
At three.
I was a runaway and a rebel.
I loved car lots and the grease-covered back doors of local cafes and diners.
I would pocket a roll of Necco Wafers faster than you could blink,
Then hide inside used cars to sleep off the sugar coma.
At three.
When I was three, I was a mean little thief in stylish red cowboy boots.
© 2012 Michael Hunter
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
When I was three, I was a criminal.
I was a shoplifter and a thief.
I would crawl out of a window with broken glass in the pane, and run the streets.
At three.
I was a runaway and a rebel.
I loved car lots and the grease-covered back doors of local cafes and diners.
I would pocket a roll of Necco Wafers faster than you could blink,
Then hide inside used cars to sleep off the sugar coma.
At three.
When I was three, I was a mean little thief in stylish red cowboy boots.
© 2012 Michael Hunter
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