She buys me a weekend
at the golf course,
a bucket of exploding golf balls
I can use as gags
with all my friends.
What she really wants
is to get me clear of the house.
She wants to pack her things
quick and silent
the way you murder an old friend
in his sleep.
One by one,
I put the golf balls
into her shoes like scorpions.
Unlike my grandfather
who was raised in Menard,
she will not know
to shake her boots out
before pushing her toes inside,
placing all of her weight on one foot.
