The Assassin

[heslopian]

Train is late again. Think I'll have a chicken sandwich
today, with lots of mayonnaise. Hell, I've earned it.
Summer tickles my arsehole. Am I nervous?
I don't know. I'm not sweating, and right now
what's important is how long they've been storing
the mayonnaise. Last week I killed a mother.
Skinny mare with a brunette mane. Shot her once.
Always once. I'm tidy like that. I thought about her kids,
somewhere buying ice cream or riding the dodgems.
Lover was a thoughtful mug. He'd bought the hit,
told me not to hurt her much, take her by surprise
if I could. Married with kids of his own. Nice face.

I thought about God as a kid. Not so much anymore.
If he's real he ain't benevolent. Opposite are trees.
They're benevolent, those long kind fingers.
Down the platform a couple of dykes browse a stall,
whispering in each others' ears. I don't understand.
How can you care about another human being
when human beings like me exist?