everything you say always sounds like it could almost be the truth

in between seasons beneath this
luminous pewter sky, and the
dead girls says it’s always been her favorite time of year

smell of burning

a handful of pills

offers you one, says she’s
not sure what it’ll do, laughs while she
sings a couple lines of white rabbit

says she’s pretty sure it’s not the same shit she
gave her last boyfriends before he
freaked out, but who knows?

says he left his gun in the closet
if you want to see it,
the one his uncle blew his own brains out with,
but she says it isn’t loaded now

gives you another pill and then a third,
a beer to wash them down with,
then she leans over and kisses your stomach

tells you she’s two months pregnant

says she’s pretty sure the father’s in jail

asks you if you’re going to
turn off your phone
just in case your wife calls again