Call Waiting

she’ll die tomorrow

–gun in hand

hand that guided

pastel

before pistol,

color

before dolor, and

paint

before pain,

will trigger

an end game

she can…ah…live with

–Russian Roulette

grown tiresome.

Loading every

monkey in that barrel,

she’ll cry rough

–for the last time–

punch buttons

to bells

to voice mail unheard.

she’ll die tomorrow

(all over again)

gun in hand.