Missing Mitch

A frozen banana is tossed to the side,
Maybe later.

From behind his draped, tinted view
The killer shields himself from his prey
He gazes at their smiles through shaded eyes,
Eyes with sagging lids,
Lids with laughing folks on the inside.

The mop keeps him safe inside himself
And lets us know he likes cake.

He is the one-man firing squad,
He kills with timing,
He kills with observation,
He kills with absurdity.

The killer lures them with his laugh,
He mutters through his routine,
All together they sit and listen,
And wait . . .

The killer strikes, all encompassingly.
He slays,
His victims love him for it
And they die with a smile.

He bites into the banana, now regular,
And sighs,
"Alright."