CIGARETTES

.....I'll walk in
just like I have, the past
300 nights

And I'll ask for a pack
Of cigarettes:

"marlboro lights, box"

and you'll ring me up,
swipe the box under
the red laser scanner

and you'll whistle
at the digital display

"$6.86....damn, I think it's
time to quit, don't you?"

I'll smile pretty
     (or as pretty as I can with
my gritty brown teeth)
nod
and pull the gun.

I'll press the .38
to your
forehead

And say:

"empty the fucking register"
     (normally you'd frown and tsk tsk over
language, I've seen you do it
       To the neighborhood kids)

And you'll shiver,
your hands will tremble
you'll stink up

your kiosk

with piss

VOCATION

I slam the trunk shut
And listen to him struggle,
Legs and feet
Fists and arms
Pounding.


I listen to him scramble
I listen to him curse
Screaming that he didn't
Want to die

VOCATION #2

digging a hole
would be much easier
with an extra
set of hands

helping me
Out.

desert soil is
a lot harder
to cut through then
You'd think.

hard clay topsoil

tangled roots.

I pop the trunk

he's not in
such great shape.

can't tell if he's
Breathing?
blood's soaked
through his
shirt.

He's a corpse,
so much
For that
idea.

Copyright © 2010, 2014 Keith Rawson. "Cigarettes" and "Vocation" first appeared in Horror, Sleaze, Trash.