Grassy Knoll

GRASSY KNOLL

 By Bob Bradley

The limousine glides.

Black fins. Savage poise.

Somber parade trembles

Antennae through the Plaza;

Brittle autumn light.

Thin sentinals a-quiver

Above the motorcycles’s

Trolling haunches.

Dead leaves cackle,

Stirred by a sudden

Dry breeze. Inside

The scope’s tunnelling

Lens, just beneath

The crosshairs,

teeth–

grinning skull

in the snipers’s

sights.