18 Herding screams like crocheted baubles
He plucked each target from the rooftops
With the grace of a fishermen

Slicing hairs off heads
And coke cans from hands
With a skill most of his ex army mates
Would have been proud off,

Piercing dreams with hard earned sweat
Flicking art with each bullet

Ripping policemen in half
And people running to his rescue
Into splots of paint,

Slowly drowning in his own happiness
With each ****
Unaware you can’t **** ghosts
With bullets

Until it was too late.

*

19

Swollen with nerves
Scaled around the outskirts
Of what he had just reported
The police inspector
Spent the next 10 minutes
After his interview with the press
Panting with breath,

Fathomless in his guilt
Covered in a paused sweat
Lighting cigarette after cigarette
Like a stale perfume

Fragile in increasing nerves
Out wearied across the stars
Until a colleague joined him saying
‘Did they buy it, sir?

To which he answered
'I know I wouldn't.'