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?