Homer Pettingil
was a decent little man –
sober, industrious, a pillar of
his community, until he…
attended a convention,
met up with a back-slapping buddy,
drank enough daiquiris to douse his discretion,
accepted the invitations of a shady lady to her
hotel room,
and
viewed with vigorous admiration her diaphanous
lime-green panties.

That was the beginning of the end
for Homer Pettingill. One day soon
after, this sober, industrious pillar
of his community put a gun to his head
and…

FIRST PRINTING, DECEMBER, 1961