Bag Check

When you enter a museum,
Guards are there to search your purse;
So I open up the zippers,
But I wonder which is worse –

The fact that nothing’s hiding
In a crevice, pouch or nook,
Or the realization that the guards
Did not exactly look?

If I were packing pistols
Or a hand grenade or knife,
I’d glide right through, I guarantee –
I’d bet my very life.

So what point is pretending?
It’s a con, a game, a sham;
‘Cause they’re not seeing much
With such a cursory exam.

But we all play along
And everyone feels safe and sound.
I hope if bad guys slip right through
That I am not around!