Just The Pasta

A discussion.

I think that man shot himself.

See three shell casings glisten
like wishes in a fountain.

He’s sprawled out like a
neo-Jesus killed again by
man’s creations.

What was in his hand?

An unemployment check?

There’s a thought.

His hand is too tightly closed
to see.

His brain is too tightly

mashed between the mortar and

bricks laid down thousands of years ago.

Ready to order?

            

Yes, I’m going to just get some pasta.

Reviews

[roarke]

With white sauce, not red...
It happens just like you write it.