The Thief

The thief breaks into your house and steals your dreams while you sleep.
He puts them in a burlap sack and tiptoes through the night.
The fence looks through the sack of dreams.
“Second-rate pipedreams here,” he says.
He always says they’re second-rate to get the price down.
“This one’s shattered,” he says, pointing out the pieces in the bottom of the sack.
They agree on fifty bucks.
The thief doesn’t know what the fence does with the dreams. He’s heard of some guy named Sandman.
The thief doesn’t care. He just steals and sells them.
And dreams of retiring.