cool retributions served tea side

One day she’s singing. 

They’re lined up for her, by law. 

Firing quad style she’s plucking strings.


She’s unreachable now, undeniable.

Arms, flung with a victim’s abandon,

don't even reach the stairs.


It’s a blue dress she wears.

Her hair’s in winded tangle.

Probably the sun sets in ten, fifteen.