Checking Your Bags

In a theater or museum
Someone’s there to check your bags
And I wonder what exactly
An inspection like that snags.

Are there weapons nestled next to
People’s wallets or their phones?
Have they confiscated contraband
That some attendee owns?

As the line moves up, my bag’s unzipped;
I let them glance inside.
Although they have a flashlight,
There’s so much that I can hide.

But I don’t, of course, and neither do
The visitors behind me.
I think of 9/11 then;
Precautions still remind me.

The bag check’s just a surface ploy
So we can all pretend
That we’re safe, but that’s the error
On which terrorists depend.