On the Bureau, Bullets
Tammy Robacker
Tammy is a sensitive observer of the human experience - especially the beauty, successes, pains & obstacles of intimacy. Her poems range from celebratory and edgy to mournful and brutally honest.
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On the Bureau, Bullets
Who could leave with all that baying
in the backyard? Your old hunting dog
won't stop barking. The rush
of Monday mornings now hushed
by your audible absence. Here
where the sun once rose and broke
like an egg over that house
spilling light that seemed to shine
on only you, in patrolman badge and
dress blues. Your worn Zippo clicked,
flicked, and hit the hardwood console
after it lit your breakfast Kool. Then came
the cough, always the same
deep, fast way you could expel blue
smoke, a pet, a wife, or me
in one guttural male gesture,
and clear us from the room. Poof!
I caught my breath
when the doctors studied your x-rays
like geological planning prints. They excavated
10 inches of that mottled esophagus
in their clinical digs. Now I've uncovered
another object, surrounded by the things
of yours I can hear and see
but never embrace. Your brass belt
buckle glints. It sits unnecessary, aligned
right beside the smooth, cool clip
of bullets on the bureau. Left behind,
like me and the beagle. We are
unleashed from that ruling grip,
but yelping for your return.
Connections:Coming soon
Tammy's Poetry:
☆ I Want This Poem To Be
☆ I Want to Marry the Sheriff of Mayberry
☆ On the Bureau, Bullets
