My fingers are cold.
Trembling, even.
They are my own,
giving before taking,
but taking when 
taking doth give.

A Robinhood, then,
but not quite, because
I keep the gold 
that I pilfer.  
What then?

A cheater!  Furtive
hair ribbons matched 
with sidled 
glances, sidestepping
failure by stepping 
up the ante.

Pennies.  Copper.
Metallic.  If a 
halfpenny is taken
when taking doth
give, and a dollar
is stolen when
stealing guarantees 
one will live,
Where is Robinhood,
his pelf, and where 
is the good?