Killshot

You are not the one grace missed

Half-dunked 

In the balmy baptismal pool

The wheel didn’t spin on your turn

When you said - 

I 

Am 

Done

You clambered on to the bulls-eye

As the celestial marksman steadied an aim 

It’s a hit. Once

A thousand files moved

In the shredder, sliced 

Incinerator next, burned 

Saved, done

A billion synapses ripped

Data pads held against 2-ton magnets

Razed, renewed 

You are not the one grace missed

This foxhole is a plan, perfect