Killing Cooperatively
by James Marx


It was just-enough liquid to induce a nic-fit.
Then he wiped his chin clean of his spit;
and drew back his fist, like a bear would his paw.
He smiled, and flung it hard into her jaw.
"I only get..only get one every hour."
He said, with a short breath, and
short on his will-power.
'He's dying a slow death', she thought
to herself, in an answer to pain.
...and tuning it out, like an over-played song,
she asked if he thought it was going to rain.
She knew that he couldn't keep this up too long.
Champions. Neither about to give in;
but, not seeing, really, how either could win.
Criminals. Each, in their innocent ways;
living to put-down, what each of them says.
Heroes and villains, and all other roles,
combined into something they each call their souls.
Together. They're beckoning to be apart.
Forever. They work at refining their art.
She stuck out the bottom half of her lips
and...somehow, placed accent resembling a grin.
"Let's go to bed, now", she lifted an eyebrow.
"It isn't time, yet", he lit up the cigarette.
"Look at the clock. We'd better restock".
...and pouring the last of the bottle of booze,
they put on their clothes, and looked for their shoes.


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