Fake smiles, trimmed with fake concern:
I know a cue when I see one.
With Arsenic and Old Lace, you
at least smile at all the right parts.
I suppose there is always a gap between
how you are with me and how you are with practice.
The gun in the glove compartment is yours
if you want it back. I'm sure you'll need it.
Unless your weapons have changed.
Last I checked, they did not:
We set the stage in black and white,
supplies ready, organized. I remember.
The acid burned through the flesh between ribs,
between yesterday and today, between smiles.
After that, my nerves were exposed; I thank you.
I thank you for needing me, looking away.
Still, I find myself waiting by the phone,
waiting for another job, another careful plan.
Does anyone call a random number
just to have someone to talk to?
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