he poisoned his wife first
left her body sprawled
stomach full of cyanide
across the sofa
across that classic German silk
I wonder why
he took two pills himself
thumbing his trusty pistol
must've been unsure
must've needed guarantee
must've feared himself weak
staring out the window
in his study
the room where surely
ink spelled the first steps
for the cleansing
for the new world
for his fantasies fulfilled
I wonder
staring out the window
if he allowed a tear
at the thought
of the ovens cooling off
of the boot prints on the beach
of the kingdom he couldn't keep
thumbing his trusty pistol
dreams of distant textbooks
aware of the acid capsules
sinking through intestines
surely a gunshot
a painless exclamation point
is the more respected suicide
I wonder
when his Walther found
the soft skin at his temple
and his fattened finger
squeezed the trigger
whether his thoughts
were of the smoky sky
or perhaps of the silent wife
on the sofa behind
I wonder
if he intended
on falling dead beside her
I wonder
if despite a life
spent splitting couples
if romance was still regal
I wonder
if he would have cringed
at the sight
of a suicide's stains
across that sofa
what a shame
such hateful brains
to be splattered
across that classic German silk
