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