Stars falter but the business of burglary
is good. Boarded-up shops—not a problem
with a crowbar. Wrench the nails. Make them
squeal like a baby in Mobile then blast
the glass and you’re inside with more pizazz
than a jazz rant.
Grab the flat screens, the speakers and receivers
before the threadbare morning catches you
and cops pull on masks/gloves, run inside
guns drawn but you’re already gone
flickering through fog in a beater car.
Live forever in the era of Corona. Cough
if you’re caught. Say you’re full-on contagious:
the ghost money to heaven. Blow your breath
until everyone’s infected. Watch them run
dizzy as a sermon litany and signing
the sign of the cross.
It’s all in the attitude. Be the woodpecker
tap-tapping at the eves of the house
when the family’s gone.
So many good bugs to chew.