She wants a divorce, flips a coin for the cat, kisses you goodbye.
The usual mixed message.
You pay for dinner, and I’ll pay attention, she’d laugh when you two were dating.
You thought it was a joke but now you know better.
your wife cries from behind the steering wheel of the Beemer.
Vegas is a desert, you warn. Built on sand. But she drives off anyway.
No one loves anyone anymore.
When you think of her, your stomach snakes.
For company you buy a new cat, and a rifle.
Why not call it ‘The Mandalay Bay Massacre?’ you ask the cat.
All those music fans, doomed as lovers in a country song.
The cat laughs. Of course she does!
Enough days without her, shut in with the cat and an M-16, and
you understand the mindset of the mass shooter:
If you buy a gun you must learn to shoot it.
You almost have to shoot it.
First published in Galleywinter, Poetry,January, 2019