Bad Way To Go

Come Alecto, Megaera, and Tisiphone, let your fury fly through me. Let my words sear rage to the page and strike fear in the hearts of men.

We need better, more creative assassins—

a good murder needs more

than bullet or blade,

tools for the mundane.

I’ll arm my killers

with fireants and honey,

speculums and scorpions,

and two-pound test,

provide transportation

to a low-tide salt marsh

and play the macagoddamnrena

on mosquito wings

while horseflies sing,

make marsh grass lacerations

before shoving faces

into barnacled oyster beds

and pluff mud,

sipping a beer

and watching

the tide roll in.