Three Robbery Vignettes

I.

a pick pocket bumps into me on the bus,

lifts my wallet and looks inside,

sees nothing but darkness,

“you’re a cliché,” he says,

“you’re a thief,” I say,

“what’s the difference?” he asks,

then hands me my wallet back.

II.

three bad guys approach me in an alley,

they pull out knives,

“give us all your money, or you’re dead.”

I crouch into a fighting stance,

“oh yeah,” I say, “I could break

your hearts in ten syllables.”

“easy there buddy,

let’s holster that hyperbole

before somebody gets hurt.”

III.

a man pokes a gun into my back,

“this is a stick up,” he mutters.

“no, no, no, that’s all wrong,

you don’t need to say anything,

the gesture is doing all the work,”

he leans into me, presses

the barrel harder, whispers,

“better?”

This poem first appeared in “I-70 Review” 2024 edition