April 9: Write a hunter poem

She straps her weapon of choice across her chest
Push ‘em up and together in her little black dress
Red lips, smoky eyes, matte finish face
And a shiny clutch purse to hold her war paint
She slinks into the room, clicking her high-heeled shoes
And stakes out a spot with long-range views
There goes one, pocket square, debonair
Cuff links, salt and pepper hair
She aims and shoots herself next to him at the bar
Moves in for the kill, a ring, a house, and a luxury car

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