POP POP POP!
I said
and I shot that old lady
in the head,
right on
her gray hair.
I have no hair, only
this chef’s hat,
flat blue eyes
blob hands, feet
stupid neckerchief
a person made of dough
Think of it: I am not
a man. I am not
a biscuit. In the seam
between, I become
angrier until I swell,
burst, in a hot car
in Baltimore City
or some other city.
Maybe your city.

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Biscuits for Brains