Packing Lunch after a Mass Shooting

Marina’s eyes are tiny wells aching for someone to come with a pail.
I am so sad, she says, her hair bursting from beneath her knit hat.
We have our hands in our pockets or folded across our chests.

Western Story

Colt tied to the fence
broke its neck.
Goddamnit.
That’s what you get, sometimes.
A wild one.