brief thoughts on my somewhat haphazard team

(or: a poem by Alastair Hazard on his companions, written for the lulz)

First I met Flint, with a keen and steady eye,
and a deadly trajectory to bullets he lets fly.
Then came Dave, with no limits to who he can be;
with his disguise kit you will only view who he wants you to see.
Lily was next, a femme fatale without compare,
with a sparkle in her eye and a wave in her hair.
In Italy we met Gianna, who's a daddy's girl,
but you don't want to be the target of a knife she hurls.
Hans we'd met before, in unfortunate conditions,
but in our group he occupies an important position.
And then there's myself, Alastair, who's terrific in a pinch,
and will save the day if you give me half an inch.
A marksman, two spies, a Mafia princess too,
a German officer and a scientist-thief-- who knows what we will do?

unwise

You lead me down the roads I shouldn't go.
I should know better than to follow you by now,
but you beckon me, and I can't say no.

The sole result my travelling will show
is merely sweat that trickles from my brow.
You lead me down the roads I shouldn't go.

I walk the bank against the river's flow,
and think of things my heart should not allow,
but you beckon, and I can't say no.

The fields I trek will grow and die and grow,
and so my love for you, but who knows how
you lead me down the roads I shouldn't go?

The path that leads to you is dark, and lo,
at the end you stand and take a bow.
You beckon, and I just can't say no.

You'll lead me to destruction, this I know,
and keeping far away should be my vow.
You lead me down the roads I shouldn't go,
but when you beckon, I just can't say no.

re-set

Last time it broke,
nobody set my heart,
so it healed wrong, crooked,
awkward, untenable,
forever skewing to one side.

Nothing to be done for it
but break it again
and hope someone with kind hands
will set it straight
so this time it mends true.

strength to murder

I couldn't deal with this love any more,
so last night I crept up behind it on our way home,
put a knife to its throat and slit it through
and stood there under the streetlight watching it bleed out.

The jugular pulsed out red onto the snow.

I left it gurgling in the street.


This morning when I woke up, love was there again
looking very pale, bandage round its mute throat
watching me with dark eyes and no recrimination.

I don't have the strength to murder it again.