Years ago in Glasgow
callow youth
from troubled folk
and folks in trouble
I made my crust.
As Canutian agent
I turned no tides but
sometimes struck
a chord.
I recall a twelve year
young car rustler,
an unjoyous rider
who always torched his
purloined steeds.
I queried his fiery mania
and he explained in half-smart word
"fingerprints."
I gave him a pair of
gloves.
Bill Anderson
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