I had a second cousin who killed two people,
one a young salesman in a retail store robbery,
the other a prison guard during an escape.
Somehow he evaded capture for many years.
And he wrote beautiful poetry during those years,
was even a celebrated poet in a city poetry group.
I only knew him a little, and he was nice to me,
so I was shocked to learn he had murder in him.
And I cannot understand how he had the soul of a poet
and the mind of a killer, the two seemed incompatible.
I often think of poets as gentler people incapable
of being soulless, psycho killers, but I was wrong
about my second cousin, who death freed from prison,
but might be somewhere worse now, like a burning hell.

Bob Boyd