Standing on the corner of Claytonia and Warner <br />was the bum in the three-piece suit <br />looking as miserable as could be, I couldn't help but shoot <br />and I did, without any regrets <br />But I'm not finished yet <br />As I turned the corner I saw them, <br />the hollow sisters who mourned him <br />I couldn't understand why <br />there were tears in their eyes <br />so I shot them too <br /> <br />I couldn't leave out their whining children, clinging to their skirts <br />with designer jeans, and designer shoes, and faces caked with dirt <br />Even though I had to reload, I knew they had to be shot <br />And so did the wobbly old couple, barely shuffling along <br />There were more people than usual out on Claytonia that day <br />From ventral to dorsall, I shot them all, anyone who came my way <br /> <br />With trembling fingers I shot and shot, <br />Feeling powerful I shot and shot, <br />I was in another realm, <br />I shot and shot and shot and shot <br />Until I ran out of film<br /><br />Myra Jefferson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shooting-in-st-louis/
