That last March winter Sunday
Walking to morning coffee and bagels
I realized how easy I was to kill.
Regular habits yield predictable movements.
Easy to place a knife-wielding assassin
Around the corner from my apartment for that
Quick slice across my throat.
I shop at the same grocery store every day,
Push on the subway every morning at seven-thirty,
Fight crowds home every night at six-fifteen.
A simple matter to sprinkle strychnine on my arugula,
Blow poison gas under my door when I'm home,
Place a dark man with a high-powered rifle
Behind anonymous windows of a high-rise.
By the time I notice a bright flash of light,
Wonder what it meant—a signal—the bullet—
I wouldn't even feel it.
Today I varied my patterns:
Walked ten blocks north to take the cross-town bus,
Never shop in the same store twice. Create algorithms
To randomize movements. Switch bank account weekly,
Swivel my head over my shoulder constantly,
Double back on routes.
Don't allow anyone
A clear shot.
Peter reads "Target":
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Peter confesses: "In The Godfather: Part II, Michael Corleone says, 'If anything in this life is certain, if history has taught anything, it's that you can kill anyone.' I wrote this poem because I realized how true that was, and how easy it is to get to anyone who doesn't have Secret Service protection."