By John Grey
One after another,
they sneak into the movie theater.
They don't even care what the show is
or if it's half over.
It's the thrill they're after.
I'm sure a film
of their own cleverness
is what they'd much rather see.
Forget the car chase,
when there's a door
wedged open at the back of the cinema,
and a bunch of unabashed new stars
make their entrance from the bathroom door.
Snug in their seats, their heads
are full of trailers for coming events.
So many ways of trespass to come,
of getting something without paying for it.
And always their names above the title.
On a rap sheet, if nowhere else.
Poet John Grey lives in Providence, Rhode Island. His latest book, "Where Else is There," is published by Main Street Rag.