The tape flutters
In the blowing wind
Questions never answered
As chalk line is drawn
Another job to do
By one they call
A flatfoot, a pig
Whose heart is heavy
At the loss of someone's life
In a pool of crimson blood.

Did money change hands
Or goods were passed
Did drugs play a part?
He knows to well
Pride goes where
Common sense fears to trod
Chasing some illusions
Of safety and invisibility
That proved futile
And insane.

9-02-03
Laura R