Her hand is warm in yours.
You squeeze tighter
At their razorblade words.
You know you’re in a mall,
But you’re also in the basement
Of your grandfather’s house
Listening to all the reasons why your Aunts
Have nothing left to look forward to.
Fifteen years from now you will have forgotten
Everything about them except for their birds
And how they never left them behind when they trucked in
From Texas to visit the shooting rage.
Your Grandfather’s pistol
Mouth aimed accidentally at you
And you wonder at the bullet holes and butterfly
Band-Aids that were never enough
To pinch together your understanding of yourself.
Fifteen years from now people will look at you
With a train wreck fascination
And you are shot full of legislature.
They ask you if its worth an eternity in hell
And all you can think is,
“I wonder if they’ll serve me pizza there?”