Page 143 - 1970

THE MURDER
He walks past
A feeling of hate courses through my body I want to kill him.
But my conscience says no
In my mind there is a battle
Finally the urge to kill wins out.
I slowly approach
The hate within me grown to a crescendo My gloved hands encircle his neck
Slowly I cut off his breath
A spasm of uncontrolled fury shakes me My hands close tight
He makes a sickening sound
Claws desperately at his throat
But my hands are like steel
And I can feel him weakening
His eyes bulge
Then turn into his head
He is dead
My job is complete
I look at him lying there Laugh
And walk happily away
-Richard D. Anderson
RACIAL JUSTICE
A grave mistake
launched the arrows of death on their annihilating mission. There were no survivors except one man
and one woman.
Their hands grasp. Contrasting colours.
At least their children
will be brought up right.
- Pat McHaffie
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