by Tara Carnes

enough to buy a gun

a patient friend

taught me to shoot

 

my hands shook so much

the shot patterns

skittered off

                             the

                                            paper

                                                            targets

 

I took home his targets instead

human outlines with

the brains and balls

skillfully pierced in a shot pattern

the size of a quarter

 

I carefully

tucked them

in the recycling bin

with just a few tantalizing

              bits

                           peeking

                                                  out

 

my neighbor and I

watched through the blinds

that evening

as my ex snooped through

the bin (as was his habit)

 

the look on his face

when he pulled out the targets

priceless