I don't know why but I've been fascinated by
the possibilities for storytelling with sonnets lately
You asked about this gun; you think it’s mine?
It ain’t. Some joker shoved it in my face
Then thumbed the hammer back and just said, “Die.”
He thought he’d scare me—oh, but he was wrong,
Dead wrong. He jerked when I replied, “You’re blind—
I could make you vanish without a trace.”
Too late he learned appearances can lie;
That fool was slow but I was fast… and strong.
I doubt his wife will ever care just why
He walked away and never said goodbye.
When Hoffa died and no one found a trace,
The killer walked; no body meant no case.
Your curiosity might not be wise;
Forget it, kid. DON’T THINK; that's my advice.