Waking up late, she ignores
tree rose silhouettes cast
 
in shadow against her curtain.
She fills herself with acquisitions
 
at the mall, steals earrings and scarves,
lifts camisoles and keychains,
 
slips lip liners, nylons
into her purse.  Stares at strangers
 
mirrored in display case glass.
At home she spreads the haul
 
across her comforter, calculates the take.
Three hundred seventy-two dollars
 
in goods scattered on an empty bed.
She turns away, looks for a book,
 
her drapes still shut against paling roses.