Meanwhile, A Sanford Wife Burns Bacon

Meanwhile, A Sanford Wife Burns Bacon

for Shellie Zimmerman


When she found him

At the station, shaky

Stinking with the musk

Of adrenaline

Arced wounds slinking down

The back of his head

Like tribal marks

Her pretty mouth

Went weak with sobs

Forced as she was

To witness

Her new kin

In such a state

Eyes widened

And warped

Words few

And fidgety.


Once home

They sat together

In the tender quiet

Of his safety

And her lips settled

Into a flat line

That would later curve

A small bit upward

When she remembered

The worst was over


The next morning

He spoke of stakes

His life or a child’s

An equation 

She couldn’t compute  

Though she took

The faulty math

Young wedding vows

Bursting from the heart’s

Quarters worming north

Infecting her brain

With a chant:

Believe him.

I have to believe him.

Believe him. I have to



A slightly varied version of this poem appeared as the "Poem of the Week" on TheThePoetry, April 2013