At fifty-nine years of age,
on an overnight business trip,
I shoplifted a candy bar 
from the hotel kiosk,
picked up two pocketing one
as I’ve read the professionals do, 
gave the night clerk my room number
and made my way back up to my floor,
mindful of the elevator camera,
prize warming against thigh, 
waited for the knock on the door,
and when none came,
slowly ate the one and then the gooey other
while zoning out to ESPN, satisfied, 
after all these years,
to still be learning who I am.