I'm looking at this now, after getting back from Philly, and now I'm thinking, "I spent a chunk of that time on the bus up writing this?" I mean, this went on for pages. This may explain why I don't write long poems.
A Parable on Committees
Once there was a serial killer,
who was successful, as he specialized
only in fellow transients in the south.
When heading up north one summer
for slightly cooler weather,
and through a mutual taste
in mutual shadow, he ran into
a fellow professional, a woman.
Both of them witnesses by coincidence,
they went away to talk and, by way
of their idea, headed further up north
and started working together
with their war on bums, staying a duo
until by way of mistaking a victim's size
(those pesky shadows again)
they ran into a bruiser so big
it would have taken both their knives
in the same hand to draw a morsel of blood.
Killer Two had an idea. She suggested
taking on an apprentice
(and walking shield if needed)
He had already taught her so much already,
why not someone else?
Killer One hesitated. They had already
started moving towards Hoity-Toity targets
(or at least people with cars and ID's),
and that felt dangerous enough.
But after much persuasion, he took in another,
and another. And another, again.
Until one day, Killer Two
got tired of even his feeble protests
and held a vote without him in the room.
She and the group decided to move
into something more ambitious.
She called her latest project Killing The Killers
and chose to start with Killer One,
who she was kind enough to call "Our Founder,"
though she neglected to mention any of this
when she left him a note while he slept
saying she was going back to school,
thinking there must be some other line of work
who'd appreciate her talents.
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