Here is the place

Here is the place we set-off.

Feral

pack

Looking

for

adventure

along the dirt track

which in rain

would become red mud;

Past the orchards

and strawberry fields

That are a story

for

another

day.

 

Right,

then left

past the thistles

and rusting fence,

dried-out

& dusty

along the path.

 

We find a house;

Overgrown garden,

a leftover from 1940s.

 

Sneak around,

Mooch surreptitiously,

the boy-pack

seemingly

not noticed by anyone,

or

perhaps

there is no one around, to see.

 

Magdiel* at mid-day.

 

We ease-open the front-porch window

roll back the blind,

and squeeze through the opening.

 

Around us is dust

and cool tiles;

 

Certain maps of strategic location that were,

perhaps once, military.

 

And this was a long, long time ago, you realise.

 

And although we did know right from wrong from breaking the law,

we took some of the maps

and

I

for whatever reason

Took

a Chinese cookbook.

 

I no longer have it (the book, that is),

although I know where it is

and

Its provenance

likely not known to its current owner.

 

Sort of a cosmic

all’s fair in love and war,

Thieve A, from owner B, and, owner C has it now.

and

we are quits

 

I don’t know what became of the maps.

 

I am sure the house is still there;

at least

We didn’t do any damage;

Weren’t beytzim

Bad-eggs, as my papa would say.

 

We otherwise left the place as it was

And likely

Went-back

To lessons on language

And

Ethics

And

Talmud

&

Gemara.

*Thank you Dorit Rabinyan for sparking this memory.