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Domestic Executioner
It was pure unadulterated disgust
like slugs, snot, skunk, roach. He was
the man with crosshair eyes, microwave
thoughts sullenly plopping. Then
Boiling brains, flying body parts. There
driving past now, obese female slug,
lipstick, cream colored Merc, pink scarf,
her head exploding like a watermelon
dropped on a sidewalk
It had always been that way, he had
learned these feelings well, from
rooftops, campuses, in shopping malls
watching roaches slithering past
studies in corpulence, complacency
smug customers at a slurping parade
Now! Centre crosshairs, adjust
laser beam fractionally forward, sideways
that’s it exactly – farewell slugs! Walking
the streets, reel whirling a torn celluloid
strip, waving like a drunk flag
music dying down now
Then home. Wife, kids, kitchen smelling
of yesterdays cooking, toilet refusing
to stop flushing again, he would need to
fix that soon, water bills threatening
to engulf him
© Johnmichael Simon
2010
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