AIM, FIRE

by Kenneth Pobo

When Tom says,
You’re a dick!
and I get huffy,
he says nobody means anything
by it, I’m too sensitive.

I claim that I’m not
a dick,
that I’m a warm wool blanket
of a man. I say he’s
too sensitive. Red

as toaster coils, he says
You really are a bitch,
spits the word out
like bitter coffee. If

a word could be a gun,
he’d load it, fire it
directly in my face.