Tipton Poetry Journal

No she said Toward the ceiling As if to a hidden Microphone, She had never Seen Oswald Until She saw him On TV And Jack was Killing him In black-and-white Like The Days of Our Lives Conspiracy, Her nose twisted At the word, Jack could barely Run a nightclub He couldn't kill The president A silence and An afterthought: Maybe he had A thing for Jackie But he didn't Think much of Her husband, Not enough To kill him ‘

The reeltape spun Recording her Disgust, Now aimed at me

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