The Hit-Man Poem by Nancy Ames

'Listen, when I'm on the trail,
I play a lonesome hand;
that's why I never fail
to do what I have planned.

I used to have a partner,
an extra pair of eyes;
we'd get them in a corner
or take them by surprise.

But she was less than perfect
and couldn't stand much pain,
opened a door she hadn't checked
that morning in the rain.

Sometimes I notice others
who travel holding hands,
and sisters and their brothers
have someone who understands.

I've done all the latest drugs
but I never could get high,
and this gun shoots heavy slugs
and I don't care if I die.

But I love to find a track
and point my itchy finger,
and the satisfying crack
when I squeeze the trigger.

There's nothing left to believe
and I can't sleep at night,
and now the last one to leave
gets to turn out the light.'