For Nathan
'I'm doing a sponsored revenge spree,' explained Caitlin,
gentling the point of a stiletto
into Mr Carmichael's chest.
'This is for that time you told me there were no garibaldis left,
when in fact there were two,' she whispered
as the tip punctured his left ventricle.
'I'm doing a sponsored revenge spree,' she told the gamekeeper,
shooting him in the throat on behalf of a grouse.
'Revenge spree!' she called breezily
as the family drowned in their Citroen Saxo.
'Spree,' she carved into the back
of the supercilious maitre d',
a chloroformed-soaked sponsorship form
clasped over the gob of that child who looked at her funny,
poisoned jaffa cakes at the DVLA,
anthrax falling from her hair like dandruff.
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