Poem: A Stranger With a Gun

Waddle around town
A stranger with a gun and a frown
A life of seeing crime
Boy, how fast is that flying thing called time
Hello. Are you looking at my name?
Or are all of us just a number in your little game?
Line them up one by one.
Who could be next, maybe your son?
Peer into every corner with scales of prejudice crumbling in your eyes.
He will learn to play off a new counter-disguise.
Tittle tattle, little snitch, just heard you rattle.
Blowback is a son of a bitch now prepare that saddle.