Concerned citizens

 Out on the road of death
Motorcycles and trucks planning my end
This group of loved starved men wants to kill me
Their click, their notorious gang 

I made my way back home in the dark
They were waiting there headlights shining
wanting to run me down and end my life
spill my blood upon the cooling surface

I look up at them, they look back scorn lit up
Guns loaded staring me down
I have no escape a tyre or a bullet will find me
So I start jogging

They try to run me down
I dive into a bush a bullet whizzes by

To be cont...

THE KEEN BULLET

His name was Fergus
Born in some ammunition factory in Mulwala new south wales.
Thousands of brothers and sisters rattling around like nails
Until they found their cardboard package and courses
Where a more tightnit rapport was forced

Weeks later Fergus made his rite of passage in some fancy gun
And entered magazinehood with the other young with the other slugs
Part of his own antimony brood tucked in all springloaded and snug
He was promoted to an in chamber position

Before he could even learn the job there was an appeasing crack
Gunpowder spat spark and click, the building recoiled back
Fergus came so close to meeting me and one of my vital organs
But got embedded in post after only one second of soaring

cont...
Off the road under the brush looking dead tot he outside world
The trucks and motorcycles drove out
The illusion that Fergus had introduced himself
And the oncoming traffic slowing and rubbernecking spooked them

I slowly got up and walked home no new optimism nor gloom
The next day I visited their motorcycle yard
I loaded the pig with fifteen young concerned citizens.
I waited for the shadow of the big black dog

A quick diversion to startle and confuse the rowdy bunch
Then in muzzle first to give those young concerned citizens careers of their own
And find them homes inside bodies quickly turning cold in chic wooden boxes