stillfugue

The look was wicked under the hat.
There were metal, barbed strings
coming from his eyes straight through
my heart. He reflected on his need
for a gun. I was always awkward
regardless of how hard I tried to be
the undisturbed bringer of peace.

Even when I’m most undisturbed,
there is scraping of a car door
by the shopping cart, and the rubber
boils the blood, furiously, as the man
dreams about pulling the trigger
and watching worms, little white bits
of my brain hit the pictures of palace
yards where no one ever goes.