could a little recognition kill you?

the assassin cracked the rack
sinking stripes in the right side pocket.
blue dots
where the cue stick struck
matched her mascara

her opponent’s
attention she owned
like a material thing
of ephemeral value
and persistent weight,
his best bet
always this moment
holding ruin at bay

in the trunk
when she finished
he fit into a suitcase that did not say assassin on the tag
during her trial, nobody spoke the word assassin
assassins she met would not recognize a fellow assassin
technically, according to the OED, she would not qualify as an assassin.
but you
sure did look
like a senator, she said,
regarding the impetuous bangs
that framed
his bloody face.
she hated labels anyway