Half through his third
bottle of red, he took
the keys to the gun
cabinet, unlocked it,
loaded a rifle, stepped
out into the garden,
wet grass beneath
his feet, breath cloud-
plumed in cold air,
scanned the organic
darkness above,
sighted a target, fired,
then swung his gun
around the night sky,
aimed again, fired.
The stars impervious,
gazed down upon him,
as shots sang out.
