The morning sun through the windows caresses;
Illuminating the dust
On the cold, chipped marble floor.
The incessant chill seeps through
The denim jeans that felt a little too snug
Just a few minutes before.
I bought this sweater,
Discounted but still designer,
A few days ago.
It would be a shame if I bled on it.
Around me the harmony of
Automatic guns firing and hostage screams
Echoes off the very floor I cling to.
If called to testify I could describe with 100% accuracy
The scuff mark on the one robber’s boot.
Two feet from me,
Forgotten like yesterday’s issue of the Times,
Andrew Jackson stares askance
From the front of a twenty dollar bill.
If I were to slip my hand out slowly,
Clench that paper in my fist
And hide it away in my pocket
Like a Sudanese refugee,
Would anybody notice?
Would I be labeled “accomplice?”
Would I too, commit a robbery?