It was quiet last night when
We handled it, Bo and me.
Jenny had risen late with a gun
And finally out and shot her
No good husband. We knew it was
Coming, Bo and me, (He was always running
Late with some glitter or make-up stain
On the white shirts she ironed for him
Every morning.)  like one of those
Summer storms that rumble
And shake and then arrive,
Sprinkle a moment and slip away
To intimidate some other town.
She was on her porch crying,
That once-used (overused) rifle clasped
In her slack grip. We knew she couldn't do it -
Couldn't pull the trigger twice in one day,
But she didn't know.
So we handled it, Bo and me. We
Reasoned that terrible gun away,
Reasoned that unspeakable emotion away,
The way we always have out here.
(With the town so far out and all.)
We dabbed her tears up with leftover
Lunch napkins and laid her down to sleep
(In my sister's bed, she's bloodstained the
Sheets.) and wait, and there she is now, officer.
Laying down.
Waiting.
(By the way, do you know what
Gets out bloodstains?)