I’m merely a chalk outline on the floor.
Shot by someone I’ve never seen before.
He took aim and fired; I felt no pain.
But I knew immediately I’d been slain.

‘Do not cross’ tape preserves the scene.
Plastic shoe protectors keep it clean.
Someone is giving a very lengthy report.
She’s asked, ‘Did you see a gun, what sort?’

A camera flashes time and time again.
Someone’s being asked to wrack their brain.
A label marks the location of the shell.
Within six feet of where I fell.

A police radio barks, ‘We’ve got the gunman.’
Apparently he hid when he should have run.
A man with a grudge but not against me.
Shot the wrong person; didn’t check you see.

I see myself now on a mortuary slab.
White coat and mask are there from the lab.
‘White, male, sixty-to-seventy and overweight,
Bullet to the chest, no angle, went in straight.’

'Next of kin are here to identify the deceased.'
It’s my wife, my brother and our priest.
‘Yes, sadly it's him. Just went out for a drink,
He was meeting with a man he knew we think.’

We were soon to retire and take off to the sun.
We’ve got two grown children, a daughter and son.
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
My name is Eric, the victim of the crime.