At Three Poem by Michael Hunter

When I was three, I was a criminal.
I was a shoplifter and a thief.

I would crawl out of a window with broken glass in the pane, and run the streets.

At three.

I was a runaway and a rebel.
I loved car lots and the grease-covered back doors of local cafes and diners.

I would pocket a roll of Necco Wafers faster than you could blink,
Then hide inside used cars to sleep off the sugar coma.

At three.

When I was three, I was a mean little thief in stylish red cowboy boots.


© 2012 Michael Hunter