Read Poem: Highkey, by tjbarkwill

I am not a murderer.
I am not a killer.
I am not an assassin.
I do not take lives.
I do a job.
A simple job.
I wait for a message.
The message comes.
The message tells me
Where to go,
When to go there.
There is no name.
No picture.
Simply a place and time.
Someone else has
Spied,
Followed,
Watched,
Plotted.
I just receive a message.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
If the wrong person is there,
I don’t know anything
About it.
There will be no conversation.
No discussion.
It is simply
Whoever occupies
That place at that time.
I don’t know.
I don’t need to know.
I don’t want to know.
It makes no difference.
The only fact
That is of any consequence,
Beyond place and time,
Is the simple fact that
Whoever occupies
That place specified at that time specified
Will cease to exist
One second after that appointed time.
And only
A corpse will remain
At that specified place.

Am I a monster?
No.
I do a job.
No more.
No less.
If I were a doctor,
I would be praised for my skill,
For my efficiency.
My detachment
Would only weigh against me
If I were a general practitioner
And a bedside manner
Was required.
But I would not be
A general practitioner,
I would be a surgeon
Where remoteness is advantageous.
One needs to be able to look
At the disastrous mess of the
Human
Without considering its humanity

If you are a surgeon.
You need to be able
To wade though the
Blood,
Intestines,
Flimsy veins,
Inconvenient muscle,
Overworked livers,
Uncared for prostates,
Uncleaned vaginas,
Poorly tended lungs,
Deteriorating brain matter,
Unrecognized glands,
Without sparing a thought
For the life aspect of
The disgusting conglomeration
You’d rather just flush down a toilet.
Yes, I would be a surgeon.
A specialist.
The man they bring in
To do a job
That few others can do.
A job in which my detachment
Is an asset.

Was I born this way?
Was it in my nature?
Did my upbringing lead me
To develop these qualities?
Am I a product of my environment?
Or am I just the realization
Of a genetic blueprint?

Such questions are among
The imponderables.
They belong to the philosophers.
They should be the stuff of discourse.
There is nothing simple about such questions.
Their very lack of simplicity
Makes them alien to me.

They are not a part of the message.

The universe beyond the message
Has no meaning to me.
This is the universe in which
Most people exist.
I interact with this universe
Only at the point at which
The message interacts with this universe.
Place. Time.
Without these, there is no universe.
Simplicity.
In and of itself.

Beyond the message, there is nothing.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest