What Eustace Did Next

05/03/2013 by Polly Robinson | 28 Comments

Written to a prompt by my writers’ circle. We were asked to write about the world’s worst hitman ~ and I thought the dVerse poets might quite like it too ~ on the assumption that it’s clear Eustace’s wife is neither impressed by, nor does she take any notice of being ‘not allowed’ to go in the drawer

He’s a Belgian buffoon in America,
Eustace is his name,
He has flashes and floaters in his eyes,
So shooting is a game.

He’s a hitman, with shot eyesight,
A bit like Mr Magoo,
He finds bottle-top lenses help him
To shoot the 1892[i].

Eustace has found notoriety,
And caused his wife much anxiety,
As the most inept hitman
In the world.

The Winchester’s on a tripod.
He’s not one for a sling.
He checks the crosshairs: on target,
Aimed at the hit, name of Minn.

‘Click’ goes the rifle,
‘Click – Click, Click.’
A problem with bullets?
Eustace feels sick
When he sees what he’s loaded
Not bullets, but e-cigs!

The ammo’s been left at home.
For a hitman, this is quite a snag,
Poor old useless Eustace,
He really needs a fag.

He takes the e-cig from the chamber,
A nicotine hit, just right.
What to do when you’ve got no bullets?
Get some more! For this is some plight.

Here’s what Eustace did next.
To his wife, he sent a text.
Imagine her shock
When asked for a stock
Of ammo from the drawer,
Where he stores:
Post-its, condoms, headphones,
His e-cigs and plenty more.

Where she’s
Not allowed
To snoop.

She gets a box from the drawer,
And wonders where the e-cigs are.
She drives to him in the car.
And hands him the box.

He peers myopic, shouts ‘OH NO’
It’s catastrophic!
His face aglow.
She’s brought
The
Wrong
Box.

‘You can’t shoot varmints with e-cigs!’
His wife confirms with glee.

‘You’ve brought the wrong f-ing stuff,’
Eustace says menacingly.

‘You can’t shoot varmints with e-cigs!’
His wife repeats once more.

‘Nor anything with a condom!’
He throws them to the floor.
‘My reputation’s up in smoke,
‘We must go home my dear.
‘My working days are over …
‘Let’s go and have a beer.’
Polly Robinson © 2013