Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2014
His name was Brown, his face was black
he walked alone outside a shack.

A siren sang across the track
and signaled clear the next attack.

A man in blue (a maniac?)
took aim and made the morning crack .

Like stones around a cul-de-sac,
six bullet holes frame Michael's plaque.
Written by
Terry O'Leary
Please log in to view and add comments on poems