Some Dare Call It Treason

William Doreski

Sneaking through the world without paying. Short cuts through expensive office buildings. Coffee and snacks put out for deserving employees. A swim in a hotel pool. Handshake of a bright young lawyer eager for clients. A book taken from a public library. Piped music in a shopping mall. The sunset ringed with errant proteins. A taste of decayed wood and weathered marble. A sparrow blowing a kiss. The night filling pails with dark that anyone could spill in the street. A church bell of the richest bronze ringing up the hours. A priest whispering last rites to a stone-cold carcass in an alley. An ambulance snoring through the wee hours. The voices of strangers clapping like erasers. Dawn staggering in a drowsy, dewy park. A tough old man snoozing on a bench. A stink of unwashed human. The aroma of unsolved crime. A doughnut tossed half-eaten into a trash can. The cry of a disappointed schoolchild. The tremor of old hands wringing in doubt. Four empty pockets, no ID, not even a lint ball. A wisp of sour breath drifting away on the cusp of a word.