Blood paints the carpet like an aerosol spray.
Coffee cup projectiles and a mailbox gets displaced.
Momma is still sleeping and daddy's not around.
Nobody even knows you're home.
They think you're on the bus.
You left early enough.

A cluster and a cell
thinning hair and scratchy towels
Wheel of Fortune on TiVo
itching--bloated--the detonation fuse

Thirty-eight years old and a .38 revolver
introductions and pleasantries aside
Take off the shoes so you don't track in the leaves.
Blame is so much easier than the alternative.