Bandits
lumber
across my roof,
steal my sleep
under cover
of darkness
I see
their dark eyes
behind black
masks.
Will they
again make
a thieves’ den
in our attic,
wild within
the belly
of our home,
escape through
the ceiling fan,
toss books
and the TV
to the floor?
I know
their prints,
want
their capture,
but once when
I came near
with a broom stick,
one grabbed it
with such strength
I was afraid;
not a petty crook
but a bear
and his band
bringing backup,
nothing safe
from this
gang of thieves.