4/30

Killer

You are not often at peace when you birth a killer
The hands have drawn themselves into

Geisha fans, spread wide like surgery
You can see the life story in the wound

The breeze is not so much a comfort as a reminder
Of what gets toppled in the wind

You would invite the sky to cry moonshine
In the hours when he curses you thru a locked door

You may reserve prayer for the camera crews
The tire marks made in your driveway from the news van

You no longer have a favorite channel
The woman across your screen

Has tears you don’t want to believe in
She will blame the Playstation

She will blame the school and Michael Bay
She will blame the mother for not caring

You swallow the cactus in your throat
It does not go down without scarring

When you stare at his room
The silence and the bolt lock between you

You tidal wave back to the screen
And utter the words, “How dare you?”