Anyway,
 let’s talk about that scumbag.
He went off the cliff.
After drinking our liquor room dry,
 carving “tattoos” into my skin,
 and leaving me
 with a bruised eye.
He went out laughing—
 and found himself
 at the edge of a cliff,
 with me
 pulled along
 by my hair.

I won’t tell you
 what led to what.
But at the end of it,
 he was at the bottom.
And I was “frantically”
 running home
 to call an ambulance,
praying quietly
 for vultures to arrive
 before help did.


Questions were asked.
Oh well.