Open Curtains - Abass Collier

The session begins with hammer to the window,

sifting of the assets, sorting of the pickings.

He doesn’t own this house!

The lady is lazing on a beach lounger,

but her saffron smells fresh.

He hasn’t time to ease on her rocker,

dine on these china plates,

sink it with that grand wine.

There’s a fence out there,

dusting his booster bag.

When he volts out of the broken window,

bobbies are leaning on the fence.

With his booty in his hands, he spins to sprint

but gets a bear hug; and he spouts:

the lady is to blame.