The Night You Were Mugged

Dear Beauty

Late night in the city, walking to your car

that’s parked on some back street…

never a good thing.

You were at a hockey game,

left with the crowd,

but, mysteriously,

the other ten thousand attendees

were siphoned off

by parking lots and buses.

leaving you as vulnerable

as an ailing wildebeest in the Serengeti.

There were three guys

who stepped out from the shadows.

One grabbed your arms,

a second pointed a gun at your face,

while the third rifled your pockets,

grabbed your wallet, phone and wristwatch.

You didn’t bother to call the cops,

merely drove home cursing your fellow man,

in an attempt to ward off the embarrassment,

spent an hour cancelling credit cards,

and your phone number,

then crawled into bed,

Before you fell asleep,

you were mugged another twenty or more times

by your thoughts.

They didn’t take anything.

In fact, they left stuff behind.

It took you years to get rid of it.

You have not become less beautiful

like great art., that doesn't change,

but, how shall I put it,

you're more tangible,

occupying a whole other reality

from the framed and unobtainable.

I no longer behold you

as if you're hung on a wall

and I tramp the floor before you.

My gaze now works in tandem

with the day to day

of actual existence.

You have not become less beautiful.

But I'm now in your life

and not your gallery.