If you were a professional killer
do you think you’d imagine days without killing?
Vacations where you wouldn’t shed blood,
holidays where the poisons would stay
locked away in the customary cabinet?
Refusals to sharpen the kitchen knives
because hey, you thought this was your day off?
Because you are not a professional killer
I bet you think they think about killing
all the time. I bet you think they think
about the wash of blood into the street
after a hit, how neck skin feels taut
under their hands. I bet you think
it’s a different universe from that side
of the equation. Then I bet you shake off
all the thought of aberrant killing
and vote for President,
or grumble at the thought of protests
against cops who, after all, are just
doing their jobs, who lock up their guns
when they get home,
who bounce their innocent kids
on their aching laborer’s knees.