The assassin

we were drinking up stoneybatter

with his cousin and my wife

this was loud around Christmas

and nobody heard my joke – 

I repeated it twice (star-

eyed drunk, six pints in 

and a cigarette) he said yes

Jesus we get the irony. fallon:

nobody kills me like you.

Someone's home.

there's a perfect wall

for knocking and space

in the bedroom for a sink. 

the kitchen can expand. the stairs

are laid lino, but there's good 

timber under: I've always liked 

bare timber stairwells.

the door opens out to the tram-line

and old market buildings

which the council intends to reopen.

in one of the cupboards

I find biscuit boxes packed close

with mass cards going back 60 years. 

we're putting in asking price – 

probate has taken a while

and they're apparently eager. I vaguely 

know the agent through college – 

he says if we bid now

that he'll pull on their sleeves. 

Anything could happen

she's showering. I'm brushing my teeth.

she's lifting her arms to wash under

armpits, then lifting her breasts up: rubbing 

and looking for creases. "but though will you still

love me", she asks with a smile, "when my tits 

go all floppy from age?" I don't know – 

that is so far away from now. anything 

could happen. could have happened 

"course I will", I tell her, spitting spots 

on the mirror. "of course I will."