The Markswoman

There are so many ways to leave your mark. A dog leaves his with a stain on a tree. The pole vaulter with an extravagant leap in a crowded arena. The lover, with a love bite, or hickey. An aid worker, with just one saved life. A newsagent, with a revamped shop. A horticulturalist, with an orchid. A wasp, with a sting. An economist, with a currency. A soldier, with a bullet. A banker, with his bonus. An interviewee, with a quote. A comedian, with a joke. A tyrant, with a massacre. A songwriter, with a song. A postcard, with a punchline. A promise, by being kept. A plumber, with his network of pipes. A guitarist, with a riff. A friend, with loyalty. A celebrity, with their profile. A thief, with prints on the glass. A child, with its blackcurrant squash. A job, with its potential. A politician, with civil rights bills. A swimmer, with her strokes. A diplomat, with peace. A nightmare, with its sweat. A past, with its unearthing. A stream, with current. A job, with mission. A religion, with tolerance. A thumb, with dirt. A candle, with its wick. A fish bone, with its spike. A biro, with its point. A drill, with its bit. A car, with its brakes. A secret, with its telling. A wound, with its oozing. History, with time. A hobo, with a train. A train, with its crash. A flower, with its scent. An assassin, with a gun. The artist ... with her work.