Or, a work-in-progress, more accurately.

A Larcenous Groom’s Cooling Off Period

He filches
tunes. Fuck copyright, its owners,
downloading steamy nude pics,
porno,
providing a market
not Paypal.
Fuck that shit.

He pilfers
pop for his hottie Charlotte,
slotted into the fridge door,
stacked in the pantry
enough Coke to fuel a militia.

He boosts
street signs. That’ll stop their godamn
touch-the-sky routine,
bestowing his buddy Guy
with a shiny, green Jackson Street,
a little glory for the double-wide.

He lifts
century-old chairs,
stuffed wildlife
from a leaning farmhouse,
fence thanking him for the laugh.
Now get the fuck outta here!

He pinches
his sister-in-law
in the pocketbook.
Emily, who mourned the loss
of her younger sibling
before being Hearsed away,
thank Christ.

He gives!
To the church
indirectly every time he mows
Our Lady of Sorrows’ lawn,
’cause they ain’t paying me enough
to do this shit
and it’s fucken hotter ‘n hell out here.

He ponders
his situation, odium state.
Heh heh.
How to beat the heat,
weather big bust backlash
all effen summer.