an acrostic poem about losing
She cracked the safe. They told you it couldn’t be done,
knocking into each other, shoulder to shoulder.
“Unless you got some magic we can’t see,” they said,
laughing all the while, “that safe, she’s holding fast.”
Don’t count on it, is what you thought but didn’t say,
unconvinced but courteous as was your wont. You
got it home, got it set, set your mouth in a hard
grim line, and waited for the inevitable.
Early morning. Broad daylight. She wasn’t like the
rest. She never needed shadows or subterfuge.
You never needed to cut your losses.