A poem about wishing someone nothing well at all

Holding true to mother's advice,
en lieu of something nice I'll
try to say nothing at all
about how my camera was

stolen from under my nose on
that same street which millions
of people around our rock dream of,
an iron sidewalk café sprawled at

their feet like some duck blind
for bipeds with menus they cannot
afford to read in their excited hands
as they watch the wildlife graze.

I'll hold my tongue with both hands
behind my back rather than wish
the person harm, painful misfortune
or carefully plotted malice such as

that which they traced in the air
with a friend before they swiped
my bag from beside my chair in a
restaurant with no service besides them.

I'm sure the fact they're bogged down somewhere
between Danté's Sixth and Seventh Circles,
Harpies feeding upon their eyes as the other
sinners laugh at the pigeon photos my son took

earlier that day has nothing to do with me and
isn't as much as a pale chalk expression of any
anger or hatred that may - or may - not bubble in my mind,
the cork firmly stopped in this new world millésimé.