The Assassination of President Richard Milhous Nixon by Donall Dempsey

I am not a silent poet

( for John Smith )

It was…
Oct 5th – 1970.

A Monday.

It was the 278th day
of the year…only

87 days remaining
until the end of the year.

I knew I had to act now.
It was now…or never.

Time? I forget the time.
Time was standing still.

Huge clouds
menaced the horizon

impersonating an Armada
of Spanish Galleons.

Full sail ahead then.
I took a step into my future.

The smiling President drawing
nearer and nearer.

In Nass
the drenched crowed cheered.

In Newbridge now
flocks of children chase the car

like he was some
kinda Piper from Hamelin.

I kept a close eye on
the secret service

all dressed in the same suit
looking like clones

of one another
talking into their sleeves.

My gaze searches and settles
upon him

like the cross-hairs
of a sniper’s rifle.

Sure he had called his setter
King Timahoe


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