Wifeacide Poem by Colin Pickett

It was easier than I had thought it would be,
no hesitence or penitent sorrow.
I came, I saw, I conquered.
Easy as cherry pie.
She didn't beg or cry, but stood there,
gaping like a fish head thawing on ice
at the supermarket.

That was the fun part,

that spark, that dawning comprehension
as the tension on the trigger tightened.
It took a million heartbeats to get there,
but it was over as soon as the
blood, brains, and hairs
sprayed on the small window over
the kitchen sink.

Let her make me clean that up!