7. On reading Burglar Bill for something
like the thousandth time
Everything he owned was stolen:
bed, beans, teapot, teacup, tea,
the grate he heaped his stolen coal in,
helmet, handsaw, got for free
on his nightly torchlit outing,
in at windows, gaily shouting,
'That's a nice –––, I'll have that!'
(A question: Did he steal his cat?)
Then along came Burglar Betty:
being burgled isn't fun.
Betty's baby (daughter? son?)
turned them both from crime and yet he
now – a timid reader prays –
recalls with joy his wicked days.
If you’ve never read Burglar Bill, by Janet and Allen Ahlberg, you’ve got a treat in store. I probably haven’t actually read it a thousand times, but these days I can be asked to read it three times in a row. Like Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are or Margaret Mahy’s A Lion in the Meadow, it never gets boring.
Me fail? I fly! 