The Banality Of Evil {A Short Story Poem}

There are voices in Donald's head telling him to kill his entire family.

The kitchen chair creaked very loud as Donald reared it back,
his neighbors found him odd but he was truly weird; in fact,
this evening had him waiting for the fam to get involved,
by coming home like normal; he was going to kill them all.

His right hand traced the gun that lay upon the table top,
his mind conveying shots to make his wife and babies drop,
this life was not for him no more; the bare redundancy,
was driving him to Hell and all that lay there underneath.

Old Don went back a decade in his mind and sad to say,
that's when his wife first told him she was in the family way,
his son was born and five years later's when his daughter came,
the evil then came down on him like it was autumn rain.

His wife had been so loving and the kids were well behaved,
to people looking in from out his life was tailor made,
until the hellish day that Donald heard the villan call,
from deep within his essence and it made his will dissolve.

He fought the urge to do so by ignoring what was heard,
to murder off the wife and kids? The thought was just absurd,
but years of hearing that same voice speak softly in his head,
had wore him down so now they'll sleep inside a coffin dead.

Now right beside the gun lay Donald's bright and shiny badge,
he took his job to heart 'cause in this life the times were bad,
his head then whipped toward the rousing sound of laughter's song,
he also heard the car doors slam; that means his family's home.

The children's voices rose in volume as they all approached,
their shadows in the kitchen window meant they all were close,
the back door thundered open; in walked Sam and little Kate,
his wife flew in like she was running just a little late.

When Donald rose from out the chair he paused to c**k the strap,
his wife turned when she heard the sound and which caused her to look back,
the sight of Donald brandishing his weapon made her freeze,
he fired once and watched a bullet penetrate her teeth.

She went down almost instantly; that one shot sent her home,
Don then went and stood over her; put two more in her dome,
as little Kate came hurriedly to see just what's the sound,
she'd heard; Don squeezed off three more times with ease and struck her down.

He went and looked down on her; there was no doubt Kate was dead,
a slug had hit her skull and made the brains escape her head,
the boy stood there, his face a look of utter shock; appalled,
three bullets did a King of Pop and knocked him off the wall.

The smell of blood to Don was dominant; he picked it up,
while thinking of the lunch he'd ate which made him sick it up,
he then dragged all the bodies to the middle of the floor,
and fetched a pail of soapy mix to fiddle with the gore.

The bleach was strong and pungent mixed with plasma stains that smeared,
Don scrubbed until his hands were throbbing with a pain that seared,
the core of his subconscious like a grill would do a steak,
and still he labored tireless; a pill or two he'd take.

An hour passed until the floor was clean like spic and span,
the power of a god-like demon screamed within his hands,
and once the boards had dried into its state of former shine,
Don heard the voice then whisper in an eerie tone, "You're mine."

"Dissatisfied at life you were like every day and such,
you cursed your wife and babies so it didn't take too much,
to have you do my bidding; somewhat messy on a whole,
don't worry son 'cause when you die, I then will own your soul."

The corpses then began to move; a little slow at first,
while moaning; Don inquired "What the f...."; you know the curse,
their bullet wounds still bled quite freely at a slower pace,
his wife was grinning even with a big hole in her face.

Don's head was on a swivel looking for a quick escape,
his fear made him perspire as their warm breaths kissed his face,
his daughter's touch was first to hit his skin like season snow,
his mind then broke like shattered glass which left him screaming "Nooooooo...."

He blinked and scanned the room; the kitchen table's where he sat,
Don peeped its surface nodding quick and loose like "There's the gat",
he shook his head and used his hand to try and shield the sun,
from out his eyes; the car doors slammed, Don muttered "Here they come...."

©2017
The Cunning Linguist

Author's Note

The idea for this piece came to me while listening to the song of the same name by Nine Horses.