I stalk.
So skilled am I,
Oh! pathetic prey.
No hope!
For you I have
A hidden knife,
Or--
Arsenic!
A mace,
A missile.
Nuclear War!
Be sure of this
When I am through,
You'll scatter like--
Pigeons.
Some of you
Might even die,
At least you'll wince,
Maybe you'll cry,
When I unveil
My evil craft:
A killer of conversations,
I stalk you where you speak!
Cower from my awkward clause,
The awkward pause,
And flee.
the thought of an assassin using nuclear war to take out his target really cracks me up.
ReplyDeletestealthy.
:) i like it the poem a lot.
pigeons...I like it.
ReplyDeletegood poem