A short poem about overly vigilant security guards at art galleries.

if i had a gun i’d shoot
that hire cop standing
with slitted gaze and uncompromising arms
unclipped gun and ink stained pockets
staring
just as i was really getting into it

yes i know it’s a warhol
that’s why i spent
more than fifteen seconds
looking at it

believe me i’m not thinking about
ripping it off the wall
tucking it under my arm
and running racing blue blazes outa here
at least i wasn’t before

you guys are doing a bang up job
protecting these paintings

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