If I Were a Poet

I watched a show last night
about a guy who stole ten million dollars,
and no one ever knew the money was gone.
I don’t have the patience to learn to steal,
but I can tell you everything I’d buy
with that kind of money.

It takes more than a weapon to kill someone;
it takes the same planning and passion
that it takes to win the Superbowl.
I’ll just sit and watch it on TV.
Content in my contempt
and full of beer and chips, I fall asleep
and dream of a knife slicing a dozen throats.

I’m not strong enough to lust,
not bold enough to lie,
not eloquent enough to swear.
I’m not even creative enough to imagine
all the other sins I wish were mine.