Backslidden Ginny

"Sorry about your sheets,"
she lies
cheap red hair dye
screaming from the pillowcase:
"Look at what you've done!
Look at what you've carelessly
allowed to happen again!"

She slithers back into her summer dress--
no undergarment in, no undergarment out--
excusing herself down your stairwell
for the first and last
in a lifetime
playing out a farmer's phrase
that splits you like a plow:
"If you're born to be shot
you'll never be hanged."

The sour smell of gunpowder
sticks to the surrounding air.
No wonder you're the way you are.
No wonder you're away.

No comments: