footage of bomb dust flying
everywhere and bursts of orange.
buzzing of helicopters and tiny figures
making their exit.
And into the clouded mirror in front of her
at Darlene's Parlor.
"did you hear about so and so's daughter and that boy."
echoing in the background.
dizzying clouds of chemicals
move around her head,
get caught in her throat.
nights of tv dinners,
sleeping in curlers-
their pins maddeningly
pushing into her scalp.
one afternoon she gets her husband's
rifle from under the bureau,
stands in the backyard
and shoots at birds as they fly by.
bed linens strung on the clothesline
whip in the wind
like little flags.
Putting on her lipstick-
the bleeding scarlet paint of it
covers her mouth
and she watches them fall.
one after the other.
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