Gangland shooting

 His tale is immense in its originality,

Scary for revealing mans vulnerability,

Shocking, brutal and dam right mental

His story makes me weep for mankind –

In my minds eye I can see him

Kicking a ball across the uneven playground

Big, lacking skill, yet dedicated in play

How was we to know then

That his dad would soon be shot dead?

And yet, one month before,

An expensive wreath was sent

To their front door, that read

“Condolences on the death of…” etc,

Strange they thought, this can’t be right

Dad’s ok, Dad’s still alive.

Dad’s out the back, sparking

Up a light…

But on one frost coated October morning,

In an alley behind the chip shop,

Some poor unfortunate trader

Discovered his murdered dad –

Cold and blue, stiff from the chill,

Lifeless and still, against a

Blood stained wheel –

The first signs of rigor mortis

Had started to infiltrate the once

Pink skin, the bullet hole was deep,

Black, and charred at the edges

Horrible and brutal

Sickening and sad,

The wreath was obviously an omen

A portent of what lay ahead.

Cos his dad had upset a local villain

And we all know you don’t do that,

The old man had upset a villain

And we know that just won’t do –