The death was unimportant
Somewhere in between page nine and who cares
Small-time crook, police informer
Was never ever going to be anything else
That was always the problem
Low-level info, low level arrests
Nothing to set the heather on fire
Certainly not promotion material
What was needed was movement
A couple of rungs up the ladder
Better info better promotion prospects
Sadly, he was out of his depth
It was always a climb to far
He should have realised this
Some are just destined to stay at the bottom
Two rungs were just too bloody ambitious
Even a bullet to the head was a waste
But it just had to be done
He thought about it for a while
His next one had to be at least somewhere up the ladder
Two rungs
That’s what he said to himself as he walked away
Two rungs
Two rungs just don’t make a right.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2026 03:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments6
LOL your last line was what I wanted to write, all I can say is you rung me dry and I fell of me chair lol 🌹
Sending a ladder to you. lol
Love the word play Paul I always am a succor for word play. Good one
Can't beat word play.
Indeed
Good write, enjoyed
Second use for a ladder.
indeed
Best seller on the listings. Promotional tour begins when?
Paul, bloody hell! 😂 There's something particularly disturbing about someone who can rationalize murder as casually as a disappointing career decision. That's a frightening sort of ambition! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Chief inspector now. lol
Hello, Paul,
Murder most foul and what an ending. A simple twist to the old adage and it's still not right. Excellent!
Fond regards,
Tony.
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