Panic At the Food Bank
When Cowardice and Sloth shook hands,
their deal produced a special breed
of thief whose basic low-risk plans
to victimize the ones in need
required no smarts and little speed.
This slacker wouldn’t keep a job.
He’d rather steal than work one day.
He had no conscience; he would rob
an elder of retirement pay
or steal from gardens on his way.
He knew the food bank down the street
had more than food because he’d seen
folks donate cash. Also, some sweet
old ladies ran the place. Some green
he’d gain, for who would intervene?
He donned a mask and swaggered in.
A white-haired lady said, “Hello,
what would you like?” His wicked grin
was followed by, “The CASH! You know,
I’ve got a gun. Girls, don’t be slow!”
Then panic set in—his, not theirs.
They had black belts in martial arts.
“HaYAH!”—They came at him in pairs
and showed him how they treat upstarts
with thieving hands and wicked hearts.
August 10, 2021
entered in the Panic at the Food Bank Contest
received NA August 22, 2021
August 25, 2021
entered in the August 2021 NA's Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
