Hitman

I dial him up,

An unlisted number, of course

But easy enough to find

When you know where to look.

He speaks low, and slow,

I tell him what he needs to know,

No more. Not too much.
He books me in. Half-four.
Simple stuff - a time, a place, the door,

The colour, the number, the floor outside.

Then the target, to mark it,

Rough age, hair colour?

Height, weight, creed?

But no more. Not too much. No need.

But of course, remind him which door!

I give them over, lower my voice.

Slower, again, so that he knows for sure.

Payment is easy, no need to worry,

It'll be with the victim, I say,

I know where they'll keep it today.

Safe code and all, in the wall.

He takes down the digits.

How will you do it? I ask.

That's not my concern apparently,

And a shame really,

It'd be handy to know it,

Give me a sense of it, revel in it

Before it occurs, but no words,
Not to worry. No hurry,
I'll find out anyway, today.
So I thank him for his time.
Unresponsive, he kills the line.
That's fine, now to wait
'Til it's done. The time goes quick;
Half-one, 
Half-two, 
Half-three,
Then a defining knock
At my door, 
Half-four - such the professional,
And look at that, 
Right on schedule.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin