They let me keep the gun he used
and isn’t that something? Daughters
snakebit and swollen, while a boy
gums his daddy’s barrel. Baby,
no one wants to see it coming.
Sisters hiding in the sawgrass,
the kitchen light left on all night,
and there will be no heroes here.
You must understand, they come
for whoever sleeps by the door.
There’s no guilt in doing God’s work.
We let the cat eat sick birds
and this is holy. We play dead
till we teethe, and this is holy.
We let others sleep by the door,
and this is holy. Remember,
for all those they stuck, they never
got us, and isn’t that something?
by Caleb Kaiser
Caleb Kaiser is a writer from Kentucky living in Chicago. His work has recently appeared in BOAAT, Painted Bride Quarterly, Diagram, and PANK. He is a staff member of Able Projects and the Adroit Journal.