The Stolen Donna Maria.(Brief Article)(Poem)

 
THE STOLEN DONNA MARIA 
 
   Returned from the bread shop 
   you found the door ajar. 
   Getting out of the car 
   you let the parcels drop 
 
   and rushed inside to find 
   that the house had been robbed. 
   At first you raged and sobbed 
   from room to room, your mind 
 
   filling with dire visions 
   --vacancies yawned where stood 
   once some electrical good 
   or another--of villains 
 
   in stocking masks who went 
   through every bedroom drawer, 
   scattered clothes on the floor, 
   and fingered ornaments. 
 
   From one wall a collage 
   was missing; its absence 
   all at once made some sense 
   when you found its wreckage 
 
   scattered beside the gate: 
   among the train-tickets 
   and faded lunch-dockets 
   of the design, a bank-note 
 
   had been pasted; the face 
   of a Portuguese saint 
   gazed sideways with a faint 
   smile, where now was a space. 
 
   The artistic effect 
   of the woman's regal 
   smile was the point; legal 
   tender it was not. They wrecked 
 
   the collage to extract 
   that note in the belief 
   it was, though; so the thief 
   was unaware of a fact 
 
   so obvious it made 
   you think about: the kind 
   of person who would find 
   burglary as a trade; 
 
   it made you feel pity  ...