The Folly of being a Good Guy

I got to thinking.
When you can hurl light, become
a gun, hide a frigging zoo
inside you, why be noble
and starve? Sometimes
I think looting would be
so much easier.
Picture the scene.
Gunfleet takes out the store guards,
a bullet in each
like a fist in plasticine.
Spitfire tweezes one out, sculpts
a key - neatness, precision.
Once inside, shoppers are herded
out at the point
of a calcite lance, wielded
by a certain redhead invertebrate,
while Smuggler stores enough swag
in her bosom to sustain
a platoon. Finally, Moth
blacks the joint out
and in the confusion we flee,
while I think up
our pitch-perfect alibis.
It's that simple.
We don't need to rule the world.
Such greedy ambitions
are always toppled.
They don't seem to want us
as heroes, and the temptation
to cheat, to go rogue,
to pinprick the system and watch it
squeal, deflate,
well it's great,
and it grows.