by Bruce Stirling

Parked you are with the gator swamp bye-and-bye, daylight fading, your long beard graying; wasn't gray when you kissed her, wasn't gray when you killed her, left her body in the trunk till it stunk to high heaven so you dragged her inside, froze her in the freezer, buried her under beans and broccoli with you pray-hoping God would forgive you, you all your gin-soaked sins, even this one, crowning glory of your bad-ass story, the Why-you-been-fuckin-my-best-friend one, the one you can't shake, the one that made you old, made you gray, made you hate your every waking day; but you know He can't hear you, you know He don't fear you cause He knows you know she's gone, tossed in the pond, torn apart just like your heart; and there you sit, eyeing the dark and all them golden-eyed gators guarding the nightmare, your bad-ass story in all its raging glory, parked where it ended and it all began.