Stealing Carol Anne Duffy
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Transcript of Stealing Carol Anne Duffy
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Stealing
Carol Anne Duffy
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The most unusual thing I ever stole? A snowman.
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Midnight. He looked
magnificent; a tall, white mute
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beneath the winter moon. I wanted him, a
mate
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with a mind as cold as the slice of
ice
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within my own brain. I started with the head.
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Better off dead than giving in, not taking
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what you want. He weighed a ton; his torso,
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frozen stiff, hugged to my chest, a fierce chill
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piercing my gut. Part of the thrill was knowing
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that children would cry in the morning. Life’s tough.
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Sometimes I steal things I don’t need. I
joy-ride cars•
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to nowhere, break into houses just to
have a look.
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I’m a mucky ghost, leave a mess, maybe
pinch a camera.
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I watch my gloved hand twisting the
doorknob.
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A stranger’s bedroom. Mirrors. I sigh like this – Aah.
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It took some time. Reassembled in the
yard,
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he didn’t look the same. I took a run
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and booted him. Again. Again. My breath ripped out
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in rags. It seems daft now. Then I was
standing
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alone amongst lumps of snow, sick of the
world.
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Boredom. Mostly I’m so bored I could eat myself.
•
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One time, I stole a guitar and thought I might
•
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learn to play. I nicked a bust of Shakespeare once
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flogged it, but the snowman was strangest.
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You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?