An abject figure in a gray dress
Sees a man about a gun
At night on a miscarried street
That drew the eyes to the heavens.
Evil personifying himself with his wooden dummy
Waits in a hallway with blood-red cracks in the plaster
That brown recluses scurry in and out of.
A pockmarked silver tray with a single bullet on it.
Mixed drinks that smell of formaldehyde
Spilled in the middle of a tasseling cornfield.
Also, his father’s business ledger bound in skin,
And the story of how Death himself
Stuck him up as he helped carry a plate-glass window
Across a busy street.
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