Stash

I refuse to feel guilty
for what was done.
Mistakes were made,
perhaps,
but they were made
for righteous reasons.

The money I took
was just money you owed me.
I’d have already been paid
if the world was but just.
You can insist
that I lacked your permission
or call me immoral
if you feel you must

but I did what I had to.
You left the cash there
in your pocket
right in front of me
spotlit by streetlight
when you should have
already been gone from the hotel room
out into the night.
Still you remained

unconsciously lying
all spent and wasted
while snoring so loudly
as to wake the dead.
I watched you, steaming
and worried about payment.
Then, I just acted
where opportunity led

and I grabbed the loot.
I’m not sorry.
I needed it, and you
were obviously not providing
your precious dollars
all the care they deserved.
I assure you
I’ll do much better
after I pay my bills.

If you wanted the money
to remain your possession
so it you could squander
on whores and beer, too
you could have decided
to hold it more closely.
You should have done more
to keep it with you.

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