Eight Tenths Of A Second Poem by Paul Falconer

Eight tenths of a second he had
Young boy dead, really too sad
Looks like there's no gun in his hand
Just  blood on the gravel, blood in the sand

Moments before, did he have a gun
And dumped it fast on his desperate run
Was the cop just scared of being shot
Eight tenths your honour, is all that he's got

Trained to ensure that he survives
Secretly he dreads taking a life
Amidst the riots, a city aflame
Two families in  mourning, who is to blame?

It's the craziest times a full HD show
Coming to you 'live', please don't go
When the dust settles and calmness returns
We're filming in the next town, see how it burns.