Data Leak

Sunday morning at the art gallery
soaking up Picasso pen and ink
sketches. In a sunny corner

Sleeping Woman—War, Peace
marked XXII, one hand on wrist,
face resting on her forearm,
eyes closed, hair brushed back.
horizontal lines. Serene. Secure.

Security breach at home. Laptop
says our accounts are at zero.
I squint, put on sunglasses. Tell
Evan to change the TV channel.
Shut off my phone, no, call the
bank, credit card companies.

Urgency breaks into my ears zinging
a high electronic beep. Cancel cards.
Tense wait for bank to call back.
Scotty comes in with muffins, assorted.

The leak cascades downward, upward,
branches out like an oak tree, each
loss unique like a snowflake, rising
into a flood. I sit at the glass table,
watching data sift out, drift up like
sand from sea caves under the house.
Quick, Scotty. Dollar Store. Sandbags.

An email arrives: Don’t do a thing if you
value your life. A tall man stands
at the front door. Now it’s personal.
I can’t lose my identity before next week’s
gallbladder operation. I light a cigarette
to go with a muffin. Credit rating nosedives.

With all data rotting on the bottom of the river,
I rest my head on the glass table. Arms folded,
eyes closed, hair brushed back, horizontal lines,
something to hold on to, War and Peace.