Thursday, March 22, 2007

Hobbyist - A reply...

It’s not me really
I’m someone else today
Someone now hiding
In the back of a car
Simple task to enter a car

A short wait
Until the owner returns
So here I lurk
In a car
Except it’s not me really

Last month I took a man
Slightly larger than me
A pretty boy and body toned
Stalked him quietly
Learnt his moves
And one morning
Rammed a thin steel spike
Upwards at the top of his spine
He’s who I am
I wear him well
It’s not really me
It never is

So here I am
As driver enters – starts
Pulls off
I know when to emerge
On which bit of this journey
To end this game

This one is personal
Risky for me
But today I’m someone else

The moment is here
Snakebite of memory enters my veins
Mind ravaged by poisoned thoughts
I rise up
Reach out
Grasp
Both hands
Firm and sure
Like a potter at his wheel
Inexorably crushing his windpipe – he struggles in vain
Blocking vital air supply – he thrashes and scratches
Revenge
Make right!

“I said I’d get you”

A final lesson for a fair weather friend…

8 comments:

stu said...

Touché!

I really like this. It's fun to see the murderer's point of view.
Although perhaps 'fun' isn't the right word.
Especially since I die in both of the versions.

Inconsequential said...

well, it is really the same thing, so I guess you have to die in both :)

guess you need some sleep too....
night shifts suck.

etain_lavena said...

WWHOOOHOOOO....this is nice...
whahahahah....I like when you kill the new visitor, but you once said you will wear my skin too, but I did not fire up a poem out of your wonderful brain....boohoo cry me river...:)

Pod said...

i have felt like murdering this week with my raging dental pain!! grr!
;0)

ish said...

You and Stu should colaborate on an extended bit of crime writing -- in verse of course. The verse novel thing comes to mind again. I just finished a superbly written one by an Aussie, Steven Herrick ('By the River'.)

Inconsequential said...

just looked up that chap :)

In 1962
I was fourteen,
and the flood swept
refrigerators, bikes
used tyres, and
Linda Mahony
downstream.

that was the first thing I read, so, kinda looks like a possible trip to the library or bookstore in the near future, gonna have a little browse first and find a few more snippet to whet the old appitite...

Pod said...

like that little poem...funny but also sad

Crafty Green Poet said...

Disturbing read this one, i really like the phrease snakebite of memory.