Living in the same house
we turned strangers,
me not knowing what was in his head,
him not caring what was in mine.
We moved from holding each other
to holding each other back,
and I didn't like who I saw
in the mirror every morning,
settling for a life more ordinary.
So I packed a pipe with
gunpowder and nails and
lobbed it into his car window as
he drove onto our street, which was
messy, of course, and who likes messy,
but free, too, so much more free.
It's for the best.
It's a shame the kids were riding with him
but there's a lot of socially well-adjusted people
who've grown up blind in one eye, and surely it's
better this way than living with tension so thick
you could cut it with a butcher knife, which
can't be good for anybody.
Most of the nails are out of the street already,
nice because I'd hate to pop a tire
on top of everything else,
like washing my carpet because for the fifteenth time
a visitor showed up with bloody feet and
I let people keep their shoes on now.
God will get me through this.
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