I Was Robbed--Twice
He put the gun to my head and
told me in a voice that could cut glass
to transfer everything of value
from my pockets into his bag.
I looked at him—
it was on that one rainy afternoon
last month, when you said
you no longer loved me—and told him
in a voice that could be hushed by the wind
that the only way
to take from me what I held valuable
was by shooting me in the heart
and running off with my head.
