subway shooter: a poem

he sits in a van
and records himself talking.
yells about people
and their flaws
and how they should pay
for their crimes against him.

talks of wrongs,
of vengeance,
of violence.

he goes home,
and retrieves a gun.
knows what he has to do.

he gets on a crowded subway car
and people shuffle in around him.

he waits for the
slightest provocation.

it comes in the form of
a minor bump:
an accidental elbow
to the side
with the shifting weight
of the subway
grinding on its rails.

and he retaliates.
draws the gun and fires.

Pop.

again. and again.

Pop-pop-pop.

one person goes down,
then another.

three. four. five.

bodies sprawl across the
crowded subway floor.
dead and dying.
blood everywhere—
on the floor,
the windows,
and the faces of bystanders.

he turns to a new target
and readies the gun.
levels it.

someone dives into danger
and tackles him.
drives their shoulder
right into his mouth.
breaks his nose.

they wrestle
over the gun
and
the protagonist
punches the shooter
in his face.
disorients him.
gets the gun away.

two more men
jump in
and tackle him.
detain him.
he struggles
against their restraints.

screams and shouts fill
that crowded subway car.

the subway grinds to a halt
and people rush off,
save for the shooter
and three men.
they keep him in place
until authorities arrive
and take him away.

the wounded are tended.
the heroes are questioned.
the bodies are carried off.

the man will get
life in prison
but it won’t bring back the slain.

the heroes and victims
deserve to be remembered.

but the man
doesn’t deserve to be named.

###

This is a poem from my book bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.