Caravan No 4 Son of a Gun

Apt 4

Black Door

Next Door neighbors moved out 

Week before last 

Citing strange noises 

Rotten stench and an unruly pet

And the fact they had never seen , spoken nor met

Human nature is to speculate

But why waste the energy and time 

No foul,
No crime

Until the door is kicked in

And the body's are found

Lying face down

As the children are taken into protective custody 

Just another tale gone bad

Swapping Apt 4 in Trailer Park Suburbia 

For Cell No 4 

And a Heroin Needle

For 1 Final

Lethal Injection

The End

Amen
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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