ANATOMY OF A BULLET WOUND
Zipped inside an evidence bag, a wrist
watch insists there’s a future
of snow-packed fields, empty
coats, trampled casings.
The open, upturned eye is meat
promising black, stagnant water
& the hole where the other eye would be
so much blood-crust.
Tape recorders & one word headlines
will crumble to dust. Thought bubbles
bloat the family: the gun from behind,
no perpendicular, no a knife
left on the sill, & his rock-nicked window,
the bed unmade, sheets in clumps,
& what was the name
on that framed baseball card?
House lights snap on. Blink off.
So goes the street, monument to vespers
of fizzling phone line, hanging sneakers
encased in frost
like mastodons, who bowed to drink,
lifted to yelp—The river reeds trembled.
The current slowed. Nimbus sunk
& spread the valley,
which forked & fractured, God’s weak foot.