Six
Just over
a mile away
Near the
deserted library
He waited
silently
With his
pointed lack hat
Barely
covering his guilt
‘What
now?’
Brooks
coughed
Into his
pipe
‘This is
like waiting
For
Cyanide’
‘We wait’
He
responded with resignation
‘We wait
For the
signal’
Wishing
he could wipe
His hands
Clean of
the
Full
bloody mess
But
knowing
He couldn’t.
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