The Killing of Joyce Monroe

Oh, Miss Monroe, God may have said that you weren’t ready,

However, that promise was a burden too heavy.

And now my own burden I’m unable to carry,

For I kill as a righty, and write as a lefty.

I always knew you were a talker, my dearest Joyce,

So, I had to be sure nobody heard your sweet voice.

Therefore, I knew to aim higher to prevent all noise,

And the back of the head appeared to be the best choice.

And so your first mistake was to walk through the alley,

Therefore giving me the high ground, and you the valley.

But you looked flawless, not even a spot of acne,

And through the scope you appeared to be bright and happy.

My emotions I unfortunately had to quell,

For I was on a mission to cast you down to Hell.

And with a squeeze of the trigger you violently fell,

Quick and swift, so that not a single soul you could tell.

However, just after you took that sudden, fatal fall,

I believed that I delivered no justice at all.

For there was still another Monroe, your husband Paul,

The renowned professor who teaches at Seton Hall.