After the battered
women's shelter
didn't want or
welcome her
anymore, Beth
moved into a
motorcycle sidecar-
sized apartment,
and for twelve
years she felt
the psychic bitch
slaps of abandonment
as she practiced
shooting at her ex-
husband until one
intoxicated training
session she popped
a live cap hissing
through the red
pear patterned
wallpaper killing
a sleeping infant
and just missing
a jumping deer
dinner plate hanging
on some evicted
ex-con's kitchen
wall in the only
empty apartment
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