WHAT DO YOU THINK?

terry-collett Poems

The young guy turns towards Bill in the single bed; his blue eyes are as innocent as cheese. I thought you were a gonna back at that bar, the young guy says. Bill sighs, moves up in the bed, getting the young guy into focus. But you took them out before I could blink, the young guy adds. One has to weigh out the ends and means, Bill says. But you're an old guy, I thought that was it. Bill reaches for a cigarette from the bedside table and opens it and takes out one and offers, but the young guy shakes his head, so Bill lights up and puffs away. You **** good. The youth blushes, looks at Bill, then away at the room. Small, Spartan, few bits of furniture, few belongings. You live here? Now and then. Where'd you live mostly? Out of a suitcase. The young guy stares at Bill. What was your job? Government business. C.I.A or FBI? Can't say or if I did I’d have to **** you. The young guy begins to smile, but Bill doesn't, the youngster stops smiling. Something like that, though? Something like that. The youth nods his head. Did you meet any one famous? Bill exhales and stares at the kid. I knew the Kennedys, met Saddam and Gaddafi and other creeps like that. The youth opens his eyes wide. Really knew them? Bill nods, looks away. I knew them; now they're all dead. Who killed JFK? Bill smiles; can't tell you, but you'll find out one day. Did you? Bill shook his head; no I was just a young novice then; I met Jack K in a passage way in the Big House, back in 1962; he tapped my shoulder, had a nice smile, liked the dames. The kid looks at Bill deeply. Were you sad when JFK died? I don't get sad about things, I survive and move on; now no more questions, get me a coffee and then we can get back to bed work again. The young guy nods his head, gets up and goes to the small kitchen and makes two coffees; on a wall, pinned by a single pin is a picture of a blonde girl and underneath is scrawled in red ink: innocent or guilty: what do you think?