by Nick Gisburne
Between two cities, trudging through the dust,
With nothing but a suitcase and a plan,
He finds a girl, abandoned, breathing, just,
And strangles her as quickly as he can.
They don’t survive the road without a pill,
An ugly death, prolonged and painful. Grim.
A mercy killing. When the heart is still,
He cuts it free. More medicine for him.
With forty, maybe fifty, clicks to go,
The night will not be quiet, quick, or kind.
A thick, acidic wind begins to blow,
But rather that than what he leaves behind.
His fortunes, in the city he will face,
Depend on what he carries in the case.
