My hitman
I ask the receptionist where the hitman is.
She tells me hes been awaiting my arrival
hes just down the corridoor, the third door on the left
One, two, three. Its the only one with a red cross.
I enter to see him.
The hit man waiting at a computer.
Are you the hitman?
I ask when I already know.
Sir. I need a hitman, are you my hitman?
Yes?
No I dont need a hit.
Man, I just need you to hit a man.
I heard youve hit before, too many times to count?
Will you hit a man Mr hitman?
Yes Its a man. It is a man.
Hes just... hes being protected by a woman.
A woman I love.
poem by Daniel McCann
Added by Poetry Lover
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