Here is the place we set-off.
along the dirt track
which in rain
would become red mud;
Past the orchards
and strawberry fields
That are a story
past the thistles
and rusting fence,
along the path.
We find a house;
a leftover from 1940s.
not noticed by anyone,
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
for whatever reason
a Chinese cookbook.
I no longer have it (the book, that is),
although I know where it is
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.
we are quits
I don’t know what became of the maps.
I am sure the house is still there;
We didn’t do any damage;
Bad-eggs, as my papa would say.
We otherwise left the place as it was
To lessons on language
*Thank you Dorit Rabinyan for sparking this memory.