-as Leon goes-

confined to the wheelchair

there was no need nor reason

to have him kneel before the gun

which may or may not have added

urgency to the perception of the atrocity.

he was shot in the head, eye-

to-eye with the open-end of the barrel.

he was shot in the chest.

if a bullet glanced

the side of his head due to recoil,

nervousness or second-thought hesitation,

or if Leon suddenly began his prayers

as the trigger was pulled,—  the next
bullet would go through the forehead

and outward, possibly toward the water, or

lodge into an inside wall. either way,

into the forehead and out the back.

they say the entrance hole is smaller

than the exit hole.

backward or forward

it doesn’t matter to bullet or bone

or to membrane. 

the revolver made more sense

than a fast-spitting Tommy-gun.

maybe the shell

casings are lodged someplace,—

in the wall below decks or flattened

at the side of a heavy metal pot in the galley.

they dumped him over the starboard rail to follow

the bullet into the saltwater,— if it went that way.

the ship was moving and there’s little sense
in tossing him over the rail at the churning stern.

this was the killing of a man who

manufactured household appliances.

this wasn’t the suicide of a tortured poet

and besides, Leon’s death was easier

to accomplish.