Hey Red

I've been waiting for weeks now
for them to pounce,
like spring-loaded toys,
from an alley, bundle me
in the back of a Transit
and bathe me in kerosene
to prime me for questioning.

Every dark vehicle,
whether ill-boding
or just plain grubby,
has been a source
of moderate terror to me.
Every midnight-coated man.
I have dreamed of their hands
round my throat as I lift
a calming drink
to a closed windpipe.

In fact, they're over a fortnight late.
I booked time off work to allow
for their clamps, hot wax,
nail-tugging, scratching,
spider/rat-ridden iso tanks, genital
manipulation, needles, drip
drip
dripping of water,
knives, piranhas, raped loved ones,
etc.
That time has passed and I
am still none the wiser.

I know I was never
given a set date, but this
is just rude. I mean -

Oh hey. You don't think
I
was meant to meet them?