Miraculous Robbery

A heavy hand on my shoulder,

"You will walk," a preacher prayed.

I chuckled, thinking himself a fool—

I wasn't lame, my legs were sound,

So I brushed off the sacred word.

The crusade ended, lights went dim.

I reached into my pocket space,

Looking for bus fare to get back home.

Nothing.

Empty.

Stolen clean.

And so, down the long dark road,

I walked.