all pupil

he pulls a gun from the closet
as if it were another household
tool. it is as long as my arm. he wedges
one end into his shoulder, the other
looks like an eye, all pupil. it is a staring
contest. he says bang laughs lowers
the barrel walks into the kitchen.
i can see the thing leaning against
the cabinets while he pours three
fingers of whiskey into the hole
he must have beneath his tongue.
i do not blink.


(Day 10)

there are things i could not have anticipated
when i signed on for a stint as editor at a
wisconsin based literary magazine.

who would have thought i’d get tired of reading
poems written from the perspective
of Jeffrey Dahmer’s mother.