Fredo Deserved What He Got in That Rowboat

Before running out
for drinks with an ex
my latest mistake
made one last request:
"Turn the stove off
in thirty, the soup'll be done."
I flipped through the pages
and coughed through the door
something compliant
responsible, even.

A hunch or an itch
or a hair up my ass
caused me to put down
my book for a moment.
When I went to the kitchen
the room smelled of gas.
The burner went out, the flame
was long gone, the timer was set
on the microwave dial.
A fuse had been left
to even the tally
to settle the scorn
and shake up a sinner.

A laugh chased a shudder
and then the reverse.
I opened a window
to get some fresh air.

When the new regime comes
to tear down your art
I won't ask her to take off
her shoes at the door.