Revenge: Mint Juleps Before Daybreak

Mint tea leaves pattern
her cotton blouse.
Dusk sips
its soda from a pink striped
straw while she watches
his words drop
one by one like silly lemon
drops
into her lap.

He never seems to notice
how the honeysuckle are
bending down to take
the last warm rays
into their mouths.
He is talking,
and their soft lips are
silver before
he pauses
to find a cigarette.

June beetles
wander off in their pin striped suits
like her many cropped off
sentences.
Still, she finishes them slowly
within herself,

and tries to speak
when the moon drops down,
its china sharp edge
like a pendulum
above his head.

She tries to exclaim
before the pomegranate split
of his head resounds,
the blade touching off
a thousand glistening seeds
through darkness;

But a night wren scuffles
in the sky.
She picks up the tool
when it is done,
wipes it clean.
She walks away,
wrapping it in her apron.