A Bullet for You — Peatsmoke

Men, women, and children in old-fashioned swimming costumes in black and white. Everyone’s eyes are cover by horizontal triangles and the swimmer on the far left is almost completely obscured by a rectangular image of blurred berries. — “Someone you were hoping I might be” #14 - Willy-O’

after Diane Wakoski

While in Germany you took your brother into a grove
and told him to hold a bumblebee, and when he was
stung and crying, you left him to go look
for the music. Later he told me about sluts he tutored
in college, how they all wanted fathers, and I think
he was trying to say something. But I don’t want a father.
I leave the charnel house by 11:00 with sandpaper in my hand, & in time, my fingers wear to bone-knives from pointing
to men and saying you look like my father. I hope you all die.
& I only want the good death, even for no do-gooders
like you. I wish for willful cremations, a folded flag. White rose on a red
plot, mentioned like the most respectable number of speeches, where eulogizers
only drink after transcorporelization, the fat toss of dirt.
And you should probably know, I won’t be speaking. I decided beforehand it would be unwise. There are times to threaten and times
to whisper, but I’ve never been good at a proper trigger-finger-hold.
Grammy says she’s still got that double-barrel around the house.
In dreams, I find you passed out on the flat sheet, roughly aim, and plant
six round pieces of good death in your pale back, spine protruding gently
beneath the skin. It reminds me of men from years past. The ones
to whom I said my father has blue eyes. I like that yours
are brown. Afterwards, we danced. And I was far too young
to be held in their hands, to be twirled like string-honey
across the floor, but hell, the first man I danced with was you.
My small feet bare atop your work boots, two-step across the carpet
with Lawrence Welk crooning in the background, good night, good night.

About the Author

Veronica Fletcher is a poet and writer from South Florida. Her work appears, or is forthcoming in South Florida Poetry Journal, The Shore, Rust & Moth, Gyroscope Review, and more. She is an MFA candidate at the University of Tennessee. She serves as poetry co-editor for Grist Journaland works as a reader for Palette.

About the Artist

Willy-O' is a psuedonymous artist and stranger on this earth. He has no formal artistic training. He primarily works in mixed media and is especially fond of printed material collected while wandering around. He currently resides in Vancouver, Canada.