His burnt-orange t-shirt,
black letters above the image
of an AR-15, the slogan:
“quickest way to a man’s heart.”
I’d describe him, but why bother?
My shrink left town,
so I’ll ask myself, how
did that make you feel,
that T-shirt? How? Like
the other night when a sound
woke me, not the thumpety-thump,
thumpety-thump of the cats playing
but the thump-scrape, thump-scrape
of something dragging itself
down the hall to my bedroom.