At supper he whispers something in your ear,
the Judas boy, who wants you.
We go to the garden where it’s cool
From my place against the tree
I see you through the window,
watch as you walk from door to desk,
reach into your pocket,
pull out your wallet, empty it and leave it by the lamp,
pick up a pen, lean over to write, then don’t,
take something heavy from the drawer, put it back
then sweep the money into a paper bag.
You walk from desk to door and out, your hand
reaching back to put out the light.
On the security film you leave the building
alone, holding the heavy bag.
Off camera you walk towards the Charles, leave
your saddle shoes under the pedestrian bridge.
We wait in the garden.
We don’t know yet whom you meet or why.