He took a long last drag
as he looked
out across the water,
the birds raced and dived,
the waves crashed gently
upon the shore.
In the sky
he could still see,
the image of a passing jet
bound for home.
Smoke from the gun
drifted slowly on the wind.
Deb Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-18/
