Report Of A Theft

My dreams were stolen
Contrary to the laws
Of time and space,
Thirty years before
In a tanned leather case,
Stowed on a chartered
Northern-bound midwinter train;
It was nearly collected erroneously
By an elderly man
Who was never the same.
They tried to cut the padlock,
But the guard was asking for tickets,
So they crossed the border,
Disembarked, and lugged that valise
(Worn and covered in stickers
From places we once visited,
Venice, Rome and Trieste)
To their downtown offices
And shot at the numbers
With silver-white bullets.
They used the blueprints
For their gain
And that’s why the man was never the same,
For I was that luckless elderly man
Heading homeward over the blizzarding sounds,
On a snow-drowned locomotive.

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