'Don'T Move' (The Bank Robbery) Poem by Peter Hall

On an average summer day
Under a turquoise Sydney sky,
I was a new parent and bank teller
When I saw a bearded guy.

At three minutes to five 
Pointed a hand held gun,
At my stomach across the counter
I thought my life was done.

'Put the money in the bag'
He said through nervous teeth,
I just did as I was told
To reduce the tension and grief.


But that was not as bad 
When I was sitting at my desk
When a double barrel sawn off
Was pointed at my chest.

As his metal power trip 
Was moved up to my head,
He said if I ever move
'This pretty dog is dead'.

But his hands were but steady
He had done all this before,
I thought of my wife and child
And if this cowboy's quick on the draw.


But then about a year later
An accountant at Hurstville branch,
Two men and a single sawn off
Speaking in unrefined French.

Pointed it at my head
As the female staff lost control,
Of their bladders and their senses
An innocence forever lost.

I thought about my family
How will they live without my pay,
While my brains are sprayed on the wall
At least with God, I am OK.


I have a dream once a year
I wake up after I'm shot,
But they may have yelled 'don't move'
I've won because I've moved on.