The Wait
by Darren McCormick
He shivers at opened window
coughing on rickety stool
lamp dulled, face chilled, tangled hair iced
aching breath pales the night.
Young love hangs crooked behind him
dusty face, torn
wailing tears blown through letterbox, down chimney
writhing beneath stone and rose.
But his hand stays firm on the gun
though his festered skin has spread
shrouding trigger, magazine
sealing the barrel-tip.
Years of rot and stink have misted his eyes
but when that laughing shadow approaches
with mocking felt footsteps crunching the dark wet turf
hell punch that trigger six times
screaming fire, belching retribution!
Then rise
lift her portrait from the wall
place it in the drawer
turn the key
finally
whispering
“Goodbye”