top of page

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

To Go Back To
Hit your browser's

© Johnmichael Simon



bottom of page