Red Handed

I knew as much, that I must leave,/ a soft place in a pool of light./Then comes a makeshift try at Grand Theft./It was night,/ streetlamps grew monstrous, /they outshine the houselights./Like unto a kind, bemused, /I planed wood,/ before it got pitch black./Surprised by fast money melting,/I took in the moon in long draughts./The chamber of his pistol/knew I was a prowler/not from this household./He spoke to me as a vagabond,/he whipped me like a churl.

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