April wanted nothing but the best so called the professionals, the pros, the ones with fancy clothes. The guys with the hats, big lats and polished baseball bats. They zoomed to her house and stood by the door. They didn’t know what for, but that didn’t matter. Their job wasn’t to chatter. It was to be on guard. To be strong. To ensure nothing went wrong.
© Carl Burkitt 2017
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month.