Watching the Sheep

Published April 15, 2015 by April Fox

I asked him,
where are the bullets kept?
all dolled up in my Sunday best
bedroom shoes and a battered old
He looked at me, puzzled
they’d be in the bedside table, I guess
if we kept bullets, or a gun
in the house.
So I went about my daily life
painted my nails with careful indifference
added garbage to the pile beside the sink
pulled a wad of hair from the drain in the shower but couldn’t
find the energy
to get in and make myself clean
scrubbed the mirrors like the traces
of a long-forgotten spell were coming back out
through the glass
to send the mortal ones to hell
but still my face was there
and the sheep sat perched on the hillside, watching
like vultures, impatient
waiting for the rotting
to begin.


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