Rearranging a smoldering
cradle of pills in crumbs
he lines his lips
nods at his shoelaces,
bites the skin on the palm
of his stronger hand.

A confessed killer, now
underweight, she's still
in shock but he's snapping
up a waning moon,
all that's left for him to
snack on.

Her rusty anklet snags
his dry lips while he's down,
and brings him home.
To let the peering neighbors know
she doesn't drink alone.

She grabs an extra book of matches,
takes her time comparing the wine.
Keeping busy at the mini-mart,
several glances at the clock.

Crashing through the back door,
into her dark room,
a calander of wild horses
swings on the wall.

Hurried arms are limp now.
A six-pack drops to the floor.

10/15/2005

Posted on 10/16/2005
Copyright © 2025 Kimberly Rhode