Bill One February Afternoon 2025.

Late afternoon;

the sky a mixture

of purple and blue.

Bill stood at the window

of the upstairs lounge

of the Lodge,

smoking a cigarette.

The rain had stopped;

the ground below

looked soggy.

He hadn't

been out all day

because of the downpour.

When he had

entered the lounge,

the two old dames

stopped their gossip;

and once he lit up

they left.

Small talk.

His late mother

was a good small talker;

she could talk

for ages about,

what he called

chicken feed.

The Agency wanted

the witness

of the Bobby Kennedy

1968 assassination

snuffed, because

she talked

too much

too often.

Her 'accident'

on the highway

one evening

didn't cause a stir

at the time or later.

That was in 1969.

Black op.

He watched the rain

begin to fall again.

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