It's Not What You Say

This was a follow-up to a writing exercise where we had to write a canzonetta. Note the refrain line.

It's Not What You Say
I listen, the music brings pleasure to me;
an aria sung by Domingo,
but as for the words? Well I don’t need to be
au fait with Italian lingo.
It could be the music that Puccini wrote,
it could be the voice, I’ll allow.
Whatever the reason, there’s one thing I note:
It’s not what you say, it is how.

In politics, candidates now realise
that questions are not such a risk.
Diverting the point, unrelated replies,
making jokes, shifting blame, being brisk.
I guess they need training to manage this skill –
an air of trust they can endow;
a paragon hiding a con, if you will:
it’s not what you say, it is how.

The second poem was the result of the exercise itself, with the them "contract". Naturally, I thought of a contract killer. Who wouldn't?

The Contract
He crouched behind the marble wall;
the shadows kept him out of view.
He waited, watching in the mall.
He had no nerves, ‘twas nothing new.
The crowds were held back, yet to come,
still waiting for the op’ning time.
He stroked the gun stock with his thumb.
This killing really was no crime.

The doors slid open. In he came,
the quarry that the man had sought.
He walked in like he had no shame;
the misery that he had brought.
The gunsight centred on his head.
He did not have too long a time;
before too long he would be dead.
This killing really was no crime.