I read that gun store
sales have surged, that

they have lines around the
chopping block. So we

decide when shots
rupture our street,

we’ll drive to my mom’s–
far from any city–

instead of hiding in a
closet in our basement

of centipedes.
Should we go there now?

No, we should wait it out.
We uncork a white wine

and play twenty games
of Trouble. Hours of

moving plastic pieces in
circles. Though trapped

in a bubble, the die
dictates our every move.

 

(originally published in Capsule Stories, Spring 2020)