On Roy Bentley’s Grandmother’s Attempt to Shoot Her Lover

What of this gal, who had the wherewithal to

rack a forty-five, and the will to line up the sights

on his forehead—was she surprised, when the gun

leapt at that first shot, or did it bring back memories

of her father, or some brother, or maybe an earlier

boyfriend standing behind her, his arms enveloping her

and steadying her own would-be lethal hands—

don’t jerk it, squeeze it, BLAM! thatta girl...

Though they all knew she was crazy, he still could

have had it coming. But even so, how could she miss

in nine tries? And anyway, what lesson could she have

taught him, by blowing out his brains?