Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

THE ASSASIN

She wakes and rises

to stretch and yawn

and leaves the bed

to carry on

with what she knows

she has to do.

Hot shower water

on her head

while thinking

of who lies in bed

not knowing

what is yet ahead.

She dries and dresses,

her mirror image

keeping track.

Her mind confesses

readily, there is

no turning back.

It's what she does,

her livelihood.

It's why she's paid

to do the work

that others won't

because she's good.

She takes the weapon

from her purse

and loads a double shell.

A final glance

into the mirror and

then another trip to hell.

The figure stirs and

tugs the sheet

higher on his chest.

With a pillow on his head

he hears the shot and

meets his final rest.

She stands a moment

looking down, her

commitment now complete.

The very man

that paid her fee

lies dormant at her feet.

The mission done,

the contract filled,

a weight falls from her heart.

Her life of lies and death

now over, at last

she can depart...

Bang.