Poem: "On the Killing of Brian Thompson and the Coronation of Luigi Mangione"

On my way to file my copyright claims

I passed Elevator A

A squad of uniformed inspectors

wearing aviator shades in all colors and tints

were struggling, rather comically,

to fit a guillotine (labelled "Exhibit B" - evidence)

The implement of hell was due

for a photo shoot with Court TV at 3 o'clock

I gathered from their angry chatter

about this uncooperative chopping block.

I watched, transfixed by that bloody instrument

until startled by a tap on the shoulder

It was a fellow I recognized as Mr. Crooks

He looked much thinner, much more ghostly and older

He'd been stuck in Last Year's Purgatory

and I'd almost forgotten him entirely

with so many sacrifices offered to Old Glory

He asked where I meant to go

I told him the basement floor

He nodded to Elevator A and said that'd never do -

Elevator B, he said, had room for one more

I peeked inside and, surely enough,

there was packed a gaggle of stars, a Netflix who's-who 

All of them due in courtrooms downstairs

for re-trials by podcast

all of them eager to be justified and deified at last

given the glory rightfully theirs.

I saw Mr. Oswald (or someone who stole his face)

Mr. Guiteau, a slew of Proud Boys,

defenders of such and such a race,

and the fellow who shot Spencer Percival

(I was embarrassed to forget his name)

There was even a scruffy fellow I knew as Joe

(of "Hey Joe" fame)

and true to lore, in his hand he held a gun

I even saw the guards who shot Gandhi

(albeit not the famous one) 

Mr. Oswald, or his impostor,

made room for Mr. Crooks and me 

as the elevator began to ding and whiz

signaling the departure of this motley roster

"There's room for one more," he muttered

in that antisocial way of his

clutching close his mail order carbine

I considered stepping inside - I truly did - 

I shuddered:

How long and lovingly did I stare to my left at that unwieldy guillotine?

As Mr. Crooks disappeared inside,

the president's blood obscuring his existence,

despite how easy it would be, wrath accomplished

not merely incurred,

despite these righteous avengers' insistence,

I opted to remain anonymous and portly

"No, thank you, gentlemen," I demurred

"There'll be another along shortly."