Where the Lamplight Wasn't

they took the light away
these vandals
thugs
hoodlums –
they took away the solar lights
I placed in the front garden
that looked so pretty
in the dark

for an hour I plotted
what I'd do
if I caught them –
these thieves,
these wastrels
these ne'er-do-wells –
I'd hunt them with a sword
with a baseball bat
with a pair of secateurs
to chop off their little fingers

and after a while
I shrugged
and laughed
and let it be
these kids
these drunkards
these Chesterfield Laddoes
would never know art
or poetry
or appreciate
the touch of rain of skin

and I remain
the richer