poetry by j matthew waters


aiming his colt forty-five
directly down her neck
[perpendicular to the front of the skull]
the cowboy shot his horse dead
the muscles throughout his body
contracting just like hers
lasting less than 30 seconds
—as if choreographed
the two of them collapsed to the dirt
she as silent as the night
he sobbing uncontrollably
nothing but a shadow of his former self

february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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