Break In by Lewis Turco



      At first I didn’t know what I was looking at.

   I stood in the shed staring at my riding mower

and the yard trailer hitched to it. At last I realized

      pieces of both were missing — the wheels,

         attachments, bolts. It wasn’t hard


      to figure out who had done it: the Dorking kids

   on the corner of Blinn Hill Road. The trooper who came

agreed I was probably right — the whole family were

         often in trouble — but we had no

            proof. No one was going to do


      forensics for wheels and knobs. So, for the first time

   in this little town in Maine we took measures. I nailed

the shed windows shut, put up motion alarms and lights, had

         the windows of the barn boarded up,

            invested in decent new locks.


      The Dorking kids grew up some. The elder one went

   to jail in Augusta, but others took their places:

another bunch of kids came and bilked a dying sister-

         in-law out of cash, stole a check, forged

            her signature: the bank never


      made the loss good although its accounts were insured.

   The mower was fixed and traded in for a new one;

I bought a new and larger trailer, stored them both elsewhere,

         went on gardening, mowing the lawn,

            though the new apples were bitter. 









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Lewis Turco


© 2005-2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas

Break In by Lewis Turco