Were I not tasked with his capture,
I might commend the cunning of it:
where better for the foul-souled to elude
law’s arms than a midday souk congested
with buyers dickering for bargains?
Dispatching guards to corner and crevice,
I pursue among throngs perusing kempt stalls
of copper trinkets, pigmented stonelets,
incense crystals and woven calicoes,
narrowly dodging spice mounds
and intricate pyramids of produce,
hurtling past darting bread carts
randomly sped by grinning nuisances,
evading vendors’ hurrahs and clutches
at every turn, shunning their vaunted wares,
tracking in lockstep his flitting shadow,
just in the nick of time to catch at last
a glimpse of the unscathed hurdling streetward
where liberty awaits the wily open-armed.
Brandon Marlon is a creative writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. (Hon.) in Drama and English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. www.brandonmarlon.com.