Firing Hard
He rocked back and forth in his chair,
his hands fell to his lap,
through the corner of his eye he peered,
and he felt like an animal in a trap,
two thugs came in firing hard,
his light faded,
his eyes shaded,
but before he died,
he heard a thug holler,
because in his wallet,
there was only one dollar.
Copyright © Frank F. Atanacio | Year Posted 2009
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