soft grumbles

The Assassin

As the creatures of the night
wake and crawl to forage in the dark,
each not knowing what role
they will play tonight.
Hunter or prey?
He sits and waits
watches the party,
puffs on his third cigarette
wishing it were grass.

He reminisces about years that passed.
How he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh,
the excesses of youth that seemed eternal then,
that bring him here to support his vices.

His hands stay calm and steady -
he rubs the barrel like a favorite pet,
looks at the viewfinder and searches –
red light marks the spot.

He takes a deep breath,
puts his finger on the trigger,
aims for the head for a quick blow
but the subject moves.
He waits again,
until the woman is in full view.
A shot rings through the air,
hits him on the hand
numbing his hand and arm.

At the tree, a grasshopper
hunting for tiny insects
is devoured by a frog