Wanted

I couldn’t believe it.
I even bet Rob a weeks allowance it wasn’t true.

I’ve spent the last three months darting through dark alleyways,
Creeping over cobblestones,
Playing the perfect ghost.

I’ve posted with pigeons on the rooftops,
I’ve made to be a mendicant under the moonlight,
I’ve waited. And waited. And waited.

I still can’t believe it.
Three sleepless months in the streets
Waiting for this moment.

Ninety-three days my mind has played tricks on me.
With axons conducting and dendrites choreographing the show,
My mind’s theater has played this moment millions of times.

And here, on day ninety-four,
The synapses scream “that’s a wrap!”
For my mind’s make-believe theater is shutting down,
As my eye’s camera is capturing the real deal.

His name is Herschel Horwitz.
He’s thirteen years old—
The godfather of the Matzo Mob syndicate.

I’ve been hunting Herschel Horwitz for ninety-four days
Like a ghost grasping for a lost soul.
And here I have finally found him,
Business as usual.

I still can’t believe it.