Thief

I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.

Choked a locomotive train
back in the black and white days,
Channeled flannel-wearing men to jack
a cold sack of gold in the north land rain.
You can tell a tall-tale from the way it's explained:
Does it feel uncontrived, is the story restrained?
If so, I've not revealed my true plot.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.

Slick hands slip quick across rich man's hips,
wallet's in grip while his trip gets worse.
He doesn't expect it, doesn't suspect
until he checks it, if he catches me I reject it,
and just in case, I am well rehearsed.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.

New cut designer suit,
Accountants counting countless counties' fees.
What bounty is accrued
when you take a penny or three from each deal
that you've viewed.
No more a theft than thinking's a thought!
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.

Crooners sing it:
Swing tunes and ladies beneath rhymes like Moon in June,
but none of that could make her swoon.
She was his until I made him a baboon
through comparison, yet I little enjoyed the prize
once the fight had been fought.
I did lots of things as a kid, Mama, but I never got caught.

June 26