Below is the poem entitled The Job - part 3 which was written by poet
Kilmer. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Once in my room it’s time to check my weapon. I can’t live without her. Which her am I thinking about? This is not good. I need to take a break and get my *****squared away. I pull of my boots, pants, and shirt and throw on a t-shirt, shorts, and some flip-flops and head for the beach. Time to take in the scenery. Like I said I don’t care much for California but I must admit the woman out here never learned how to dress. I have never seen so many women walking around in what amounts to underwear. For a mid-western guy like me this is…well heaven on earth. I look but I never touch. Of course for every great looking woman there’s a matching Adonis so I don’t stand a chance of gaining anyone’s attention. Which of course is perfect for me, as I don’t need to attract attention. I am merely and observer.
I found myself a high point on a mound over looking the beach and setup shop. A cold six pack of beer, pack of Marlboro Reds, and binoculars. As I settled in for an afternoon of reconnaissance I heard her voice.
“Rick…Rick is that you?”
****, really….? This can’t be happening.
“Anna? What the **** are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought you were on your way to Hawaii?”
“My flight was delayed, I decided to stay the night,” I lied.
“Great! Let’s party, can I have a beer?”
I tossed her a cold one and thought to myself what the ****.
Her hair was loose and around her neck she was wearing one of those gossamer one-piece covers for swimsuits. I could see the outline of her figure and it was stunning.
She cracked open the beer and proceeded to chug it. Crumbled it bare handed and asked for another.
“Jesus, you’re a regular drunk!”
“Shut up and give me another beer,” she said smiling wiping the dribble from the last one off of her chin.
“OK, but your buying the next six pack,” I said.
“No problem we will be drinking scotch by then.”
And so it went. After we finished the beer we went to the closest bar “Barnacle Bills”, nothing fancy hard liquor, beer, and classic rock blasting out the sound system. Requests played for a dollar. We sat at the bar and talked and smoked until the sun went down. Then it was time for dinner. She invited me over to her place but I had work to do. It was time for some reconnaissance on my target. I declined and said I really had to go, work to do, which was the truth.
On the way back to the hotel I contemplated what might have come to pass but that was the past. Time to lock and load and get this gig done. Once back at the hotel I opened up the dossier on the hit. His name was Kevin Collins. Business man, worked downtown, ran everyday, happy hour at the Black Orchid, home by 7:00 PM, and lights out at 11:30 PM. Straight routine very seldom strayed from the schedule. This would be a breeze. I needed to get this done. The sooner I get this done the better. I decided to stake out his house and see what was shaking. I would wait till 10:00 PM and then head up into the hills over looking LA. Apparently Kevin had done quite well for himself. The dossier never reveals why someone wants someone gone it just tells me the details and habits of the hit. No need to get personally attached. I had a few hours to kill so I mediated and took and power nap.