one bullet


there is death

in the kitchen
and
there is sorrow
in my belly
for the mother
next door
who lives a life
like
dripping faucets
running toilets
monotonous
mad
she confesses
with the fury
of ants
cold beetle stories
of youth
run from her tongue
into my ear
she shakes and cries
for lunch line ladies
missed sunday sermons
and the man
who stopped
one afternoon while
the children were
at a school
as my arm finds hers
i commit with knowing tone
another friendly fatality
"it'll be alright"
the stains are brighter than blood