Planked in the Spit by Ken Allan Dronsfield

I watch as bubbles slowly rise,
from the bottom of the mug to the rim
Rising, much like rain in reverse, fizzy,
building in a crescendo all along the top.
While destitute of a pious contentment
I've never been a confirmed infidel.
Wry of a grin at the rising of the cross
at the bar in front of the horrified crowd.
Resolute in the squeezing of the trigger
I watch the blood slowly rise, bubbling
from the wound and down his cheek.
crimson stains the spit and dirty floor
life drains from a fixed blue-eyed gaze.
Two quick chugs from the waiting ale;
the gun slips and drops to the floor
with a thud, as the crowd now moans.
I watch the glass; empty but for foam;
he who kills freely now lies dead in the spit.
Revenge, redemption, closure, a final
breath taken from this sphere of misery.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma.  He has three poetry collections, "The Cellaring", 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work. His second book, "A Taint of Pity", contains 52 Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection. Ken's third poetry collection, "Zephyr's Whisper", 64 Poems and Parables of a Seasonal Pretense, and includes his poem, "With Charcoal Black, Version III", selected as the First Prize Winner in Realistic Poetry International's recent Nature Poem Contest. Ken won First Prize for his Haiku on Southern Collective Experience. Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy.