5/30 - Safehouse
Western Mass shows less signs of damage.
Less people means less blood in roads,
Bodies run over and mangled.
Not as many of them, but more places to hide.
We planned to meet at Ian's.
The few friends I spoke with
voices unwaivering,
We grew up shooting for sport.
The radio screams safety
rants refuge and relief
sings God bless america
and save their souls
When I pull up the dirt driveway
they are waiting in windows
with buck shots and bats
bloody and bruised
but unharmed.
Wine and Whiskey hands
Teeth grit, dirty nails.
sleep in shifts.
Sniper rifle sits in the second story
and in the two trucks outside
i smoke my first cigarette in two years
stare through the scope.
You don't realize how alive you are
until surrounded by the dead
we are cement soldiers
preparing for inevitable massacre.
4/30 - I Never Thought I'd Say This...
I never thought I'd be thankful for a wal-mart.
But here I am, casually shopping aisle 6
for that shiny new rifle that I've been
just dreaming about
while the easy listening music still rings
in the background.
walk the aisles.
Easy to carry bags stuffed with food
cell phone charger. Call Dad again.
No answer.
clothes, coat, sneakers,
lots of water.
handgun. bullets.
Its incredible how easy it gets
after the first kill.
3/30 - The City is Kindling
The movies always show burning cities.
Cities torn, butchered.
This does not happen overnight.
There is this moment when you think
you are the only one in the world who knows
its coming, its here.
I walk down the street with blood
on my shirt and a rod in my hand
no one questions.
Just look wide eyed
unable to accept what has happened.
the streets are still moving.
Street lamps still click on at night
I swear I still feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket
though it died last night.
I still want to pay at a register
before taking food.
This city is kindling, waiting to burn.
2/30 - Weapons
Look around your bedroom. Count how many things can be used as weapons. The number is always higher than you expect. Now really think. How many things in your bedroom actually have the power to kill another human. Creature. One of them. That number drops exponentially. Then add in the panic thats surges through your body eatch time he slams forward into the door- not like the other times no this time there is no anger. No screaming. Just the shell of a man hitting the hollow door with a force that shows no care for his own body- you'll grab something hard. And big - a bat, a bedpost; I pulled the dowell out of the closet and decided it would do. Today, this man, would die by my hands. Hands trembling nervously i unlatch the door. Let it fall forward. Start swinging.
1/30 - It Starts In the Kitchen
The shuffling of his feet crossing
The door frame makes calves clench.
Once soft and slow now sharp
Abrupt
I learn more about people
Head down, hearing their steps
On the pavement
Then I do looking them in the eyes
Anymore. Rainfall is the best -
Scurrying shuffling stampedes
Clicking thwapping and stomping
All moving with purpose.
All venturing home.
I imaging he walks slowly
Even in the rain,
Drinks it in through his clenched fists
Keeps his chin high off of his chest
I bet he wonders if that’s what tears feel like
When they aren’t dripping over knuckles
No one ever plans that day.
There’s no warning, no thunder.
When he came in feet dragging
that was the first time i was afraid.
not any intent in his steps
i spoke with a waiver in my voice
that made me question myself.
made me wonder how id made it this far.
with every thud
thud
thud
of a foot dropping hard on wood floors
a shiver runs through my spine
for a minute i am a child hiding in the closet
or under the bed
i wished to be somewhere warm
under blankets
curled into a lap.
when he stepped into the kitchen
i pretend unafraid.
speak knife on cutting board
ask about his day.
he laughs.
no grunts.
for the first time in months
i see his eyes.
dripping red.
smiling.
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