Even if they gave out prizes to poor drunk white ladies,
I would not accept. I am comfortable in my yoga pants
and my unadorned, bare-balls abandonment of you.
Plain is just fine. I stayed too long, sugar-coating
and appeasing the killer in you, but listen at me gone.
War changes people, not that I would know.
I’m hopeless at knowing, except this:
I always was a good girl & full of meat & gifted guns for show.
I let you get away by making you go.
My defense is horrid. I wanted only to be left alone.
I had you in range. I should have shot you point blank.