You shoot your gun
In the air telling everyone
To get on the ground.
All the people in the bank
In fear wishing for a
Way out, hoping these
Aren’t their last breaths.

Your ski mask hugs
Your face hiding your identity,
Trying to talk deeper so
No one will recognize
Your voice.

Holding your gun at her
Head saying, give me
All your money unless
You plan on getting shot.

I know you are thinking
About your daughter,
About the medicine you
Couldn’t afford. Wishing
There was another way.

You think about her smile
And how you’d feel to
Lose her. Realizing this
Is all worth it.