We Shoplifted
all the books we couldn’t afford
and cases of beer,
expensive liquor
We’d just walk out with them
under our coats or sometimes
out in the open like we’d
already paid
keeping an even pace
You were the same as me,
at least in the respect
You could steal anything
nailed down, chained or otherwise
We were drunk for
three months straight
I’d dropped out but you were
still in school somehow
It got to the point where we could
take down a 750 each without much
feeling and I was smaller then
than I am now
couldn’t have weighed more than
a hundred and ten pounds
You wore a long coat and I’d
sing myself hoarse if I drank enough
I remember one night at my aunt’s house
in Azusa
we woke up at 2 AM still reeling
and you chased me onto the front lawn
in a white sheet
the grass was wet and you
tore the sheet away from me
spun me around naked and it was
warm, high summer
quiet in the streets with no cars
no movement
just us
You told me I was beautiful and
should never wear clothes
You ran your hands over me and then you
threw me to the ground
but we were so drunk we just
talked about Marilyn Monroe and
Elvis until the sun came up
Your eyes were blue or green
I can never remember
and eventually I lost everything we stole
Samantha Arlotta is a lady, recently moved from Los Angeles to Austin, Texas. in between sad jobs and bad loves she writes poems and children's stories. Some of them have been published, most of them rejected. She is currently trying to raise houseplants.









