It was a hole, size of a dime. <br />Had penetrated his left eye <br />a Southern California crime <br />they use their guns there, never shy. <br /> <br />The brainstem caught the leaden thing <br />but, at a loss to fight intrusions <br />it sat there, numb, and felt a sting <br />death came on strong, 'twas no illusion. <br /> <br />They dropped him into fresh cement <br />and poured another ton on top, <br />the cops would never prove intent <br />though they would try, this was a cop. <br /> <br />And it is true they did walk free, <br />no body meant no crime was done, <br />but one detective used a key <br />no, not revenge or his own gun. <br /> <br />He took the crims then for a ride <br />in a small Cessna to the sky. <br />When they were up he opened wide <br />the door and said this is good bye. <br /> <br />Pulled out his Colt, three fifty seven <br />and herded them, those chicken shits, <br />it was a quarter to eleven <br />and they were now out of their wits. <br /> <br />But he was firm and they then tumbled <br />out into nothingness and smog, <br />the pilot turned and stretched and mumbled, <br />then made an entry in the log. <br /> <br />The end result was that they had <br />eliminated evil doers <br />and no one acted real sad <br />they missed them only in the sewers.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-killing/
