—I GOT YOUR NUMBER OFF THE WALL

 

Peace

 

There was nothing left to do, 

so they took turns shooting each other.

Each bullet hit, blood spraying windows

and wallpaper, all kinds of crimson.

 

In the morning, the one still breathing 

took aim again, the shot just missing his heart 

but ricocheting off a framed photo of sunflowers

leaning into the corn-colored glare where a pair of

children were either hiding or laughing behind them, 

holding up peace sign fingers.