Treasure Island

John F. McCullagh

(09/28/1954 / Flushing)

50 Years on


Twelve thirty five
three shots ring out.
The Presidents been hit.
He's dying, no doubt.
A ghost stares down
at the Motorcade.
Another clutches his throat
as lifesblood is splayed.
Their drama plays out
at Dealy Plaza
Without the blood
or the Dura mater.
A great Man murdered,
A vision gone
November twenty Second
Fifty Years on

Submitted: Wednesday, November 21, 2012

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A commemoration will be held tomorrow in Dallas with a moment of silence at 12: 35 for the death of a President

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