The dream comes out of almost nowhere,
Like they nearly always do.
I've never seen such a personally
Impersonal letter, not even written out
But typed in stark black and white,
Sharpened like a too-short shiv;
Not meant to kill me, but to make me bleed.

She tells me that she's met someone;
His name is Josh.
He's loving and supportive,
Makes her feel better than I ever did,
And maybe most importantly,
He isn't tortured by waking nightmares
Of blood on sand and sweltering failure.

There's even a picture, tastefully done
In shades of gray.
He's big-boned and tall,
With long, curly hair, an honest face,
And even in monochrome I know
His eyes are blue.
Not her type, but there she is,
Clearly on tiptoe and kissing his cheek;
I see the rosy flush of fall and youth,
And the unmistakable glow of love.

The letter's almost perfect;
Mission accomplished, message received.
She only forgot one thing.
I turn the envelope upside down,
Holding out my hand, but not feeling
Its brassy weight.
Then I realize it was perfect after all...
She knew I'd want a bullet.

10/22/2007

Posted on 10/22/2007
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