Beauty Salon Becomes A War Zone
Okay, you’ve worked hard and you have saved,
It’s a warm, clear & beautiful very sunny day,
Casual dress, including sandals, the exact dollar,
Seal Beach, outside LA, favorite beauty parlor.
As Salon Meritage is packed like this all the time,
Now, how does it turn into the scene of the crime?
Death of six victims, critically injured three more,
Suspect in custody soon after walking out the door.
Less than half a mile away he’s arrested while Tri-C,
Cool, Calm, Collected, but right after a killing spree?
The local television crews captured his peaceful look,
Hold on, only moments earlier several lives he took.
Executions were calculated with the trigger squeezed,
Police confiscated a vehicle, multiple weapons seized,
KCAL-9 showed police surrounding a four door truck,
Sounds like something hunters use when hunting buck.
As every chair was occupied at the time of this attack,
With the number shot it’s clear he wasn’t coming back,
Bullet entry wounds appeared to be all over the place,
Cannot imagine the horror, stunned looks on their face.
Daily Seal Beach Patch got a statement from an employee,
Saying the gunman just lost a battle, x-wife, child custody,
A quiet close knit community, in three years one homicide,
Bitter, hateful, jealous rage in seconds shattered the pride.
X-military wearing body armor witnesses would described,
Not planning to die on scene, neither shall he run and hide,
Six dead, lifetime incarcerated, kids have no dad at home,
And just because a, “Beauty Salon Becomes A War Zone.”
Because time passes by there is always an update,
The six original confirmed dead escalates to eight,
Is the last one remaining going to advance to # nine?
Who returns from a beauty shop & things aren’t fine?
Luke Easter's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Beauty Salon Becomes A War Zone by Luke Easter )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings