the armed guard
lugging warily the white burlap
bags of cash
and coin, lumbers
from the block
truck, metal white,
meshed
and thickened
by fear of robbery. he
looks each
way before entering
the bank.
one hand
near a gun, a radio on
his shoulder.
all day, he does the same.
fearing life,
fearing death,
keeping his job
by protecting what isn't
his.
no different from me,
or others walking by,
I guess.
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