PETTY THEFT, a poem

Somebody stole my shit.

Smash it and grab it, gotta feed that habit.

Somebody stole my shit.

Happens to everyone, so they say,

we accumulate shit and shit goes away,

makes space for more shit to misplace or replace,

to give a name,

to jumble and toss,

to prioritize or organize,

to sit on a shelf or give to somebody else,

to make me feel better about myself.

But it’s just stuff.

I didn’t lose a limb, or the lady I love,

I didn’t lose my faith in the human race,

‘cuz I never had much in the first place.

Gotta expect petty theft.

Smash it and grab it, gotta feed that habit.

Somebody stole my shit.

But I don’t resent the thief or thieves,

they didn’t set out to try and hurt me,

they’re just crying for help, down on their knees.

They are not respectable men.

Drugs get real bad when you can’t afford them.

Smash it.  Grab it.  Feed the habit.

My shit fed the cultural id.

I say cultural because it’s not an isolated incident.

Ain’t the appetite of one chickenshit tweaker,

it’s everyone’s problem–

past, present, and future.

-DB