Real Things

A couple whose modest lives require frugality.
They are talented in their professions,
Have pleasant dispositions, and humble backgrounds.
Unlike the company they keep,
Their paychecks are meager pennies needing pinching.
Token perpetrators in their circle of friends,
However, never treated any differently;
Expected to keep up with high-living,
They were never given charity,
But they never felt ashamed.

A night after some event in an old brick mansion,
Historically located in a presently poor neighborhood
From which, they live only several blocks away.
It is not economic to drive that night,
And their two-door, rusted with paint chipping POS
Would not fit the scheme of cars valeted into security.
So the husband, in his thrift store suit still looking sharp,
And the wife, in her grandmother's vintage dress
Flashing an eloquent past, walk that night home.

Flirting with the breeze, airy on cocktails,
Ears fill with sweet nothings and rapid breath.
They tie each other to with their arms.
Lips locking and unlocking as they sway.
Their eyes spent more time reflecting each other
Than watching their path, it was no surprise
That they didn't see shadows cast from behind
Or hear quick steps approaching, or even
Put their arms up in surrender quickly.
But no matter, the encounter, from start to end,
Lasted only a fraction of a moment.
Her faux gold and precious gem necklace taken,
And his wallet filled with food stamps ripped off,
They were not stirred or shaken, simply glad
They were spared any real harm,
They giggled on the way home, find humor
In how little was actually taken
And how little it actually mattered.