TO PHIL (IF HE WAKES UP) (by Kath Mckay)

Anger drove me to it
I killed him at last
one night when we were alone in the house
And the stage was set for sex
and romance
and he fell asleep
smelling of creosote and beer.
So I killed him. It was simple really
with a knife I had from the Guides.
It was sharp and strong.
So I found his heart and looked at him sleeping and unaware
He’d always said he wanted to die in his sleep
the irony was good
I smiled at him once and the knife slid in,
meeting resistance at first
and then something that felt like gristle
under my butcher’s knife in the kitchen
He looked up once
and his eyes had that wide open
slightly surprised look
just before he came
and his tongue hung out like it always did.