the CEO of the big magazine company
once held a knife to my
throat – woke me in the dead
of night, and from behind the
dead of his eyes he told me
in his best drunken disguise,
that he very much loved his
girlfriend…and that the whorehouses
he used – with his discount card – didn’t
mean that he did not love her still
he was off to see her right then and there,
in the dead of the night, lifting the dead weight
of his soul and slugging it up the hill.
all of this was breaking news – the knife,
the prostitutes, the 50% off…
and I figured it best to do what his ambitions
were doing at that time: Play dead
a tense moment passed and then the front door
of the flat slammed. And that was that
ride out the term – and probably the rest of the year,
make mention, now and
then, of this weird, awful chap. Move on
and figure he had too.
Well, the knife was back on several throats just recently,
jobs gone – the CEO now paid to be the
slasher he’d one-time threatened.
You wouldn’t read about it.
(Well, you’re not going to be able to).