December 1989
With a loud bang,
I’m off
and zoom through the air,
death’s faithful bee.
Was I meant
for someone else?
Or was the sniper startled
by her domestic gestures
at the top floor?
It doesn’t matter now.
A soft splash
into her flesh
and I’m in.
Easy.
The body breathes
and folds
and the shirts billow
and flap
their white,
surrendered sleeves.