This was some time ago – or was it?
The days are coming a little too fast to recall;
Blurring together.
Oh well, as I was saying
Before my mind wandered off
Into unknown territory,
As sometimes it is apt to do;
As I was saying,
A while back,
Something happened.

Now, I can’t quite remember what
Or when, or by who it was instigated,
But I know something happened.
Something big.
Not so massive as the Heist;
Your father will tell you about that
When you’re a little older.
But something big enough
To penetrate even the foggy reaches
Of my dying memory.
Yes, something happened and it was while back;
Before that room down the hall
Was closed off.
That was four-and-twenty ago;
Some weeks, then
Since it happened.

I know something happened
Though it’s a little misty
Something did indeed take place
Four-and-twenty ago.
Now, it had to do
With old Mrs. Rutherford and her cat
Or perhaps it was that she was catty
I never did fully hear
That conversation.
Sometimes it is a little hard
To understand English
When seemingly they are talking now
In American.
Slang a little harder to come by
Than the English
I grew up with.

But then again I heard
The voices whispering.
Not the voices of the mentally disabled
Since I suppose I cannot call them retarded
I never did like that Word;
You remember the Simpson boy.
They would have called him that
Four-and-twenty ago.
But in this age, it is
Political Correctness.
As I was saying,
I heard them speaking.
About Mrs. Rutherford
And her Cattiness.
Or her cat.
Apparently – and this is to be kept quiet
Mind you,
They were saying, she’s lost it.
Not an object,
I see you are confused.
No, they were saying,
She has lost her marbles.
And that she will go
Tomorrow, perhaps.
Next week at the latest.
Now that I think about it,
She is the one who lived
In that room down the hall,
That they closed off
Four-and-twenty ago.

And if this happened,
Just before Four-and-Twenty,
Then maybe,
The Thing
The Something That Happened
Had to do, with that room.
It is good, to finally understand
That Mrs. Rutherford,
was the Instigator.

In my old age,
The smallest comforts are maybe those
That always have made sense.
Now off with you and to bed;
Slumber peacefully,
And tell your father that when you are older
He should tell you about The Heist.
Lord, what a funny story
That Heist was.
But you are a little young for it yet.
It will not make sense.
No, it will not make sense.
And I will spare you the disease of the world
When it makes no sense
I suppose that is what I am supposed to do;
Lord, that is my job.
I will spare you a little longer,
And I will not confuse you.
Now say goodnight, and goodbye.
I don’t think we shall see each other again
For some time;
Maybe many years.
I will be in the Kingdom,
Waiting.
Now don’t forget to remind your father
About the Heist.
Best of luck, my little one,
May you sleep well tonight.

The next day, the Child asked his father
If he could tell him about the Heist.
The father did not respond at first
But soon did;
And asked the child where he had heard
About the Heist.
The child said he had heard it
In the fevered sleep of the insomniac
In the fading horizons of the elderly;
He had heard a voice.
And the father sat the child down,
And told him about the Heist.