by Annie Phillips
There is a constant quarrel between bullets and
intended targets
the metal always wins
the mothers always lose
the children watch
& replay and rewind til they remind
involuntarily
themselves
could be twisted up
& spit out too.
That if they saywhosawwhat
Curfew would be a forever thing
An indigo blues
Doleful dim
A would have been flicker
In the cyclone we call Langley