Sunday, 2 February 2014

Assassin



I slipped a word in when
he wouldn't notice it at all.
Subtle. Quick. Kinda mean.

Only a small word. But then
aren't all words pretty small?
In the old 'Grand Scheme'.

The word was fused to detonate
as he closed his eyes to snooze
after dinner, at half past eight.
BANG! - all wordy hell broke loose.

People screamed, crowds parted,
the doctors arrived in a rush..
The Queen sighed, the Pope farted:
No use. His brains were addled, mush.

So why am I confessing this?
What harvest can I hope to reap?
Why should I even bother you..?

If you start nodding off to sleep,
after dinner as some folk do,
and you hear a little clicking...

That's it! I've put a word in you -
and the detonator's ticking.




First published in Poetry Island Anthology 5/14