In a country of small beers & pocket knives
his heart rolls with the dice whenever he hits the streets.
They watched the missing like a hawk.
Then they denied she even existed.
He who thinks this is a country of memory
refuses to remember the number of those who have perished.
Madness is a refuge at a time when murderers roam the countryside.
Assassins carry the picture of Christ in their wallets & cross themselves
whenever they pass by a church.
The contract killer has an impeccable work ethic
he sees to it the job is done perfectly.
The wife intuits it in her heart he’s a good man:
She cannot smell the gunpowder in his hands.
When the old woman felt something beyond formal logic & theological verities,
she smiled at the news of the killings that the children had finally fled to the hills.