Murdered Money

Tracks on the road

Point to the getaway.

My money left me

In a huff,

Sending me into poverty

Out of bitterness.

The killing

Of my bank account

Happened in a flash,

Out of pure

Emotional impulse.

Not premeditated.

Almost a reflex reaction,

When the temptation

Came to fruition.

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Murder Fund

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Image via Wikipedia

Clashes cause classes to come to slashes.

Honey turns bitter in the bucket with blood.

Closing time is enemy prime underneath time.

Fellows keep up a fund in hope of reaping

Justice. Children play among the father figures,

unbeknownst to evil in their midst.  Then it comes

to tingle their yearning. You can smell the hatred.

You can see the knives in their eyes.

“Let’s go'” the leader, Jack, says, as he gestures

into the bank.  It’s the manager they’re after. Jack

“walks up to the first  slot and yells,

“Where’s Jake?” Jake comes out trembling.

“You know what we’re here for.”  “Let’s have it!”

A swift exchange. One envelope, one knife,

ear to ear. No explanation.