Danny Klecko
Hitmen In the Kitchen
About a month before I moved out of my parent's house
Two hitmen stood in our kitchen
They were high school friends of my mother's second husband
Visiting on a one night layover
Wearing Italian suits that cost more than my car
When the whiskey bottle was empty
The ashtrays full
The contract killers hinted
It would be convenient to crash at our place
My mother answered, by not answering
The following morning she entertained whimsy
By trying to imagine the daily routine of an assassin
Deducing that they probably took their meals at restaurants
Their love from pay dates
And you just had to figure, they had all their laundry sent out
I thought about it for a second, looking up from my cereal bowl
Replying, if I had to make people disappear for a living
I'd wash my own clothes to bring some normalcy to life
We both laughed
Until our eyes met, then we became frightened
I Like You Patty Hearst
If time allowed an edit
I would join you in the closet
To marvel at your features
In a less than perfect darkness
But maybe we should whisper
As they fumble through the ransom
Which they can keep, for all I care
While we share the closet
Where you will tell me stories
Of conversations long forgotten
Just as long as I promise
Not to follow when you leave
And you won't have to worry
Because I don't want a lifetime
I only want a moment
To have you in the closet
About Danny Klecko
Klecko lives in a mansion across the street from where F Scott Fitzgerald wrote his first novel. Most of his time is spent in the company of bakers, boxers and Russian supermodels. Some have suggested that he is Ernest Hemingway reincarnate.