Grassy Knoll

GRASSY KNOLL

 By Bob Bradley

 

 

The limousine glides.

Black fins. Savage poise.

 

Somber parade trembles

Antennae through the Plaza;

Brittle autumn light.

 

Thin sentinals a-quiver

Above the motorcycles’s

Trolling haunches.

 

Dead leaves cackle,

Stirred by a sudden

Dry breeze. Inside

 

The scope’s tunnelling

Lens, just beneath

The crosshairs,

 

teeth–

grinning skull

 

in the snipers’s

sights.