Bonzo (Poetry)

He was the stuff of legend —
a figure from our small town
hall of fame —
some would claim ‘infamy’
in terms of petty crime —
a no-good-boyo
in the local gossip columns
almost making the headline

We smiled and nodded shyly
as we passed him
on the street —
this hardly-dangerous-looking
dumpy sort of guy
with curly hair — for nothing
gave away his reputation
as someone who’d done time

And if prison left its mark
on him we couldn’t see
its grim tattoo —
he looked like someone’s cousin
on a visit from the country
not a villain
or an old lag keen to corrupt us —
the impressionable young

Burglary was his profession —
nothing posh
with fancy alarms or locks
just ordinary houses
a downstairs window left
not quite closed
for the opportunist thief
too much temptation

He took what he could find
apparently — small stuff
easy to carry — he worked alone
so no dividing of the spoils
and it became something
of a joke — half-funny
how very often he got caught
like his heart wasn’t really in it

Each time they let him out
Bonzo used to come and visit
his old mum lived a street away from us
but as time went on
we saw him less and less
they must both be gone by now —
she died in some old people’s home
her rogue son — like as not — while still inside