Jack

Trembling in the shadows
He stands silently.
Blood dries on his shaking hands
And drips off the stainless steel blade.
In the distance, the city tower warns him
That morning is still advancing.
He pays the prostrate lady two bits,
One for each penetration.
Fog envelopes them, becoming her
Shroud.
Fevered, he steps over her
Out into the cold dawn.

Jamie Morris
August 8, 1990

Clearly, this poem is about Jack the Ripper.

One thought on “Jack

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s