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Posted on October 23, 2010 at 3:15 PM

Even the most textbook

Looking suicide can be

Arranged and made to

Look as such, even if it


Wasn’t, says Bill to the

Young man he’s just

Fucked from across the

Hall, standing by the


Hotel window, looking

At the street below. Maybe

You’d get the hit and how

It had to look (accidents


Were choice, but needed

To be planned to the last

Iota) or these suicides,

Especially for those who


Seemed they just might

Have done so under the

Right pressure, the likely

Targets, the ones with a


History of imbalanced

Behind them. The young

Man dresses and combs

His hair, giving Bill a tight


Ass frightened stare, but

Saying nothing, a nod of

Head, a weak smile, wide

Eyes watching as the man


Who fucked him well, turns

From the window with his

Steely gaze, tightening his

Tie, that look of iciness of


Face and eye. Had to be

Done well, couldn’t have

Those conspiracy jerks all

Over it, pointing fingers,


Lifting the lid, letting out

A bad smell. Job fixed and

Dusted, hit made, states Bill,

Opening a smile, and done well.

Categories: Poetry & Lyric, Terry Collett

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