A Real Jack The Ripper In A Small American Town

Gladys was a devote Baptist and a
Sweet old lady who never had anything
Bad to say about anybody so when this
Young man moved into the neighborhood
They said you can just look into his eyes
And see he’s nothing but bad news but
Gladys said now didn’t our Lord say he
Who is without sin cast the first stone?
Little did she know she had just dug her
Own grave for it wasn’t a year to the day
On a dark and starless night close to
Summer’s end he snuck into her house
And up behind her while reading the good
Book and with one forceful stroke slit
Her throat, she fell face down on the kitchen
Table and one cheek resting over the
Words of the Lord…
That was fifty years ago and nobody would
Of known it was him if it hadn’t of been for
The funny cowboy boots he wore that
Left their imprints on the bloody kitchen
Well that was fifty years ago but last night
He escaped from his padded cell and now
A demon is on the loose again, like a bat outta
Hell, in a small, small American town…
A REAL JACK THE RIPPER that can’t be found
A REAL JACK THE RIPPER leaving dead bodies
All around, in a small, small American town…
A REAL JACK THE RIPPER that cannot be found!

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Bo Lanier

Bo Lanier

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Bo Lanier is from Chattanooga, Tennessee and has become an established poet with five books to his credit that were published in Canada. He received several achievement awards in creative writing through poetry.com and has recently published two eBooks and one paperback book through Lulu.com. After a nine year hiatus, Bo returned to publishing his poems with a new outlook and fresh ideas. His other talents include singing and songwriting.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

Ghost Town

Ghost Town short poem

Watching the descent without god in an intelligent design. Come have a look at our adversary. The template offers an open hand. The culture of hunger in this urbane obscenity sitting on the payment making a motif. The giant strode

Jack And The Box

Jack And The Box long poem

Ladies and gents, You don’t know Jack. Hence I wax poetic To remedy that. Jack has a knack For following the pack. This fool dives in the pool To swim with the rules. He doesn’t judge it lame To remain

An American Poet

An American Poet short poem

I am an American Poet coming from a long line of creatively challenged penman and women A Poet Prince relinquishing the earthly flow of jobs and declarations while punishing establishments organizations that diminish the fabulous flow. A lifeline for civilizations

Small Windows

Small Windows short poem

This road trip to moon will not end through the shards of shattered, small prints of sleep. A ravaged nest lived behind tomorrow in necklace of past apologies. Hanging by fan was ending of today. We talked of dirty nights

A Small Time

A Small Time prose poem

When I was a little boy, I used to run up to the end of the earthen road and run back homeward; in my hand an open-lipped astonished fig berry, a few apricot stones and some body-scars. At those days,