Eddy, Bank Robber
When I worked in Park Cake Bakery there was an interesting guy I worked with. His name was Eddy. Now Eddy had a very sharp mind, was an alpha male and had several scars on his face from old fights. It wasn’t his cake making or scars that got our attention; it was his professional criminal past. He was a bank robber who used guns to do it. They’d gone to a bank and made a withdrawal in the coolest way.

“Give us the cash or we’ll plug you! Fill up the bags. Used notes only.” The bank staff did as told just like in a gangster film.

And that was that. They had the cash and would’ve been best investing it in bricks and mortar Brink’s-Mat robbery style. The cops caught them later and he got serious jail time. Upon release he worked in the bakery. The guy who ran the work agency gave him a job as he was an ex copper and wanted to let Eddy have a chance going straight. And straight he went being a good worker.

Eddy’s first words to me were: “Hey mate, do I know you? From jail?”

I knew I had to be careful with this one, paranoia, sharp mind and he looked quite handy. I replied, “You know me now mate! How are you doing?”

We got on very well. Eddy told me some stories after one of the other lads, who was also quite handy but on a lower level told me of Eddy’s past. “He robs banks.”

I asked Eddy on this and he asked me who told me. I said one of the lads but I don’t want you hurting him. He was fine. I said I knew a bank robber when I was in the south before. They’re what I call alternative businessmen. They rob a bank and don’t have to be wage slaves. They know the risks and the cash is actually insured so is paid back to the bank.

There was in issue with a young Pakistani lad. Words were said as Eddy was close to a very pretty Asian lady who the lad also liked. There was a bit of pushing and shoving in the cake storage area. Later both said sorry and shook on it.

Eddy came back to work as he was fired due to an incident. This led to another display of his temper. He had a pal who had a Queen’s crown neck tattoo. They both had a row. They were ten or twenty yards apart and such was Eddy’s word that his mate took a step back! This was after he argued with the bakery manager, a woman who was like a bloke. She took it and gave it back.

Time moved on and I left the bakery. I worked briefly in Littlewoods in Shaw. And who did I see there? Eddy! My opening words to him were: “Where’s my guinea pig?”

It was cool to see Eddy there. I missed him. We chatted and I told him of the incident I saw with his pal. He said did I see it and I replied I did, all of it. It was funny looking back but Eddy could’ve hurt his pal seriously. I’m glad he didn’t.

We worked in the warehouse picking and packing orders. There was another incident with a young Pakistani guy again. Words were said and Eddy gripped him and let’s say told him off. The Pakistani reported the ex armed robber to the supervisors. The two were separated on different floors. Eddy went to the guy’s work area and ‘told him’ off again! The guy never said a bad word to Eddy ever again.

Eddy told me his dad owned a pub near where I used to live. He dad was a big fan of both Numan and Bowie, the superb 80s singers. His dad liked both the same not one over the other.

I wish I’d have spent more time talking to Eddy as he was the real deal. We civilians don’t get to meet real life gangsters very often, part of the underworld. I’m not talking about stealing cars or shop lifting. Eddy was the real deal. If he robs more banks I want him to remain free. I hope he’s fine and healthy right now. Did you know he also had an A Level in art? He was quite a guy.

Cain killed Abel, for Abel was favoured.
Losers need losers, for then nobody wins.
Rather a robber be king, and all be robbed.
The mark, a small price to despise the favoured.
Why Trump? Because *******! That’s why.

you crept in my window
in the middle of the night
to steal all i had
right from me
nothing left in sight
place your hands around my
mouth
and now i can't breathe
the loneliness has robbed me
of everything

How dare you
Pillager
Plunderer
Robber
Vandal
Thief
Lover
Mine
How dare you reduce me to rage
White hot and safe
Safe for my plate
From which I consume mounds of animosity
For the atrocity
For on that afternoon
I died
And I'm still not alive
Because of you
Because you were mine
You were my lover
My thief
My vandal
You robbed my heart
But then plundered my dignity
And pillaged my sou
How
Dare
You

Robbers take what we hold dear, not only materialistic things. You broke the typical robber stereotype.

I don’t want to close my eyes anymore. I’m afraid I might find you - again. Robbers don’t necessarily come in the dark. I can still see my reflection in your eyes, pleading. My whole outlook on people changed. I don’t want to see anymore. You robbed me of my sight.

My skin is a living paradox. It is hot to the touch, because of bottled up anger, yet it is cold. It is cold where your fingers once danced graciously over me, like a dancer gliding over the floor. You never told me you could dance. I now refuse to touch my own skin. It doesn’t feel the same anymore. You took my sense of touch when you left.

We went for strawberry milkshakes when we met, just before... Strawberry milkshakes were my favourite. Notice the past tense? I want to confront you about what you did, but I cannot face you. I tried calling to no avail. The words burned in my throat and I became mute. I ended up not saying anything at all. Strange, my voice and my sense of taste left with you.

I can still smell you beside me - roses and regret. I try to avoid roses now. I bought a bouquet out of spite, in a desperate attempt to get back at you in some crazy way. I destroyed it. Nothing came of this, except the realisation that I cannot bare the smell of roses. My sense of smell was taken away by you.

I still hear your voice echoing in my thoughts. The sweet nothing’s you whispered. You were right when you said that nobody will know about this. You were wrong when you said that it wouldn’t hurt, because I’m still in pain. I cannot even listen to certain voices anymore. The more your voice echoes in my mind, the more my hearing fades away. You stole my hearing.

Robbers can be charged with breaking and entering. Why can’t you? Isn’t a lack of consent exactly the same? A simple guy like me, could never trust a woman ever again. You are a robber, and you robbed me of my senses.

The alcohol has set in,
The jazz has lighten the mind,
With the wine rushing,
The rays of that far end memory.
The Beatles were on the old tapes,
While the old man reached his deck,
Brought out an crystal glass,
A drink was poured and served,
As the hands rose to her brown hair,
Shades of a beautiful lady poured up,
Eyes dimming with the black,
Yet clinging at her face.
She seemed hot in her sadness robe,
While her hair played to the song,
A sundress night on a cloudy sky,
For she was the robber,
That robbed me of my security,
With a dagger of hope and life.
Tuned to this lost night affair,
I laid my heart and eyes on the tables,
Rowed the boat to her,
Stood beside with a smile,
She was crying goodbyes to her past.
Then we talked through difficult times,
Shared a shy smile,
Like a beautiful song,
I turned and we touched our drunk lips,
She leaned and this hands hugged her,
Lost in that classy moment,
The time ceased and the tapes played,
A lost love song.

'Hands off,' says the bag of cash to the robber.
Or, wishes it could have said,
Because it was an inanimate object,
While the robber was not.
The bag of cash was just a cotton satchel
While the robber was all flesh and blood.

'Where are you taking me?' the bag of cash silently wails.
It doesn't see the light of day
When the robber stuffs it into the trunk of his car.
Alone, the bag of cash occasionally jumps up in the darkness
As the robber's sidekick -- his car
Rushes him to an alien place.

'I have been forsaken,' the bag of cash mopes.
Once the robber takes it out,
The bag of cash will have to die.
It cannot imagine the horrifying thought
Of the robber slitting him open.
Its organs -- the wads of cash -- will all spill out in a puddle.
What did the bag of cash deserve
To meet with such terrible fate?

But the bag of cash hears a gunshot
Once, twice, and thrice.
And a flicker of hope lights up within it.
It sees the light of day again as the trunk opens
And, to its delight, sees the robber
Cuffed by the wrist and wearing a scowl.

'I can go home now,' thinks the bag of cash,
As the police officer takes it into his arms.
And once it's home, back in the vault
It can relay the frightening experience
To other bags of cash, bursting with paper bills and eagerness.

the robber sneaks into
my space of illuminating
sadness
trying to piece together
the things that make me
tick
soon enough he thinks
he has it figured out
placing screws in the abyss,
knowing that if I tock he did
something
wrong
i want to tell him that
nothing will work
no matter how hard
he tries
my hands are broken and nothing
will ever
make them tick again
as much as they can try
as much as i'm already turning my
cogs to start again
the robber takes my broken hands
but just for a bit
"let me borrow them" he says
when he brings them back they are
rusty and used
i want to tell him that it hurts to tick,
how just because i was condoning
the robbing; i wasn't accepting it.
but i don't say a word
i just croak a broken tock
and let him rob me
all over again