Colin F. Jones


Swollen leaches and twittering birds,
Steam rising from the sodden ferns,
The shaky leaf the breeze disturbs,
Hot steel against the cold hand burns.
A Parakeet screams, in startled flight,
Through the jungle canopy blocking light,
And in the shadows and out of sight
He crouches like a Phantom in the night.
A glint of blade; a muffled scream,
Blood flows into the trickling stream,
As silently and quite unseen,
Leaving no tracks where he has been,
The avenger takes himself away,
To kill again another day.