and knew from the start how it’d all end,
hence the name – insurance against love.
I’d shake the feed can at the barn
and the rough scrape of grain against metal
would produce a charge along the path,
a snorting, and the kind of drool that falls
to the ground in viscous threads of greed.
Every day this, until the sudden last day
with its usual bucket-and-grain shake
followed by his everyday rush. This time, though,
he was not only met with a bucketful sweet oats –
there was also a gun,
a bullet to the head,
the thud of dead weight.
It’s been a lifetime since then, and, still, I see it –
the hard packed path, the charge, the drool, the head wag.
I hear the crack of the rifle fire. Watch the total collapse.
Not long after, I met that one girl with the blue eyes –
the way she smiled with them.
First appeared in Chiron Review - Issue 108