Shots fired. Saturday night.
I heard them and thought
fireworks did not sound nearly
as innocuous.
I wondered briefly
where you were and if
you heard guns go off
on the weekends
in the odd hours I used to spend
avoiding seeing you and
cutting up with the friends
you were right about.
I heard them and thought
you would be happy to know
I'm not out there anymore.
I'm in here. Taking shots.
Trying to fall asleep
against the baying sirens
that tell me something is wrong
something is off, but never exactly what.
