The Sniper

the mirror ball spins at the entrance,
and shoppers walk along aisles full
of sweaters, cosmic briefs,
tossed pillows and broken dolls.

among the throng steps a man, his gray hair
and silver glasses depicting serious plans,
and his rifle held straight ahead motions toward
toys, ready for play.

each object is lifted, its origin noted,
and the man’s steely eye looks through
the scope, blasting toyland joys to heaven.

he hates with a fever: Jews, gays, foreigners.
he destroys randomly, and shoppers hide
behind waste baskets full of pleated shirts.

never does he stop, his eyes gleam with joy,
a bird bath killed, a plastic doll lobotomized,
a photo of a Jewish family shattered.

his robot legs react we glee, kicking high
and stomping. no rest will he have, he marches
intently, searching for victims: a toy train made in Israel,
a fey dancer plastic in pirouette, a Barbie doll lifting
her skirt.

his hatred is his joy, and the bullets bounce
off walls, through plate glass windows
and stroke the firm flesh of night managers
questing police.