By Joanna Fuhrman
Everyone I ever loved is standing
on a platform with a gun.
In the cartoon version, a flag pops
with the word 'bang.'
In the soap opera version,
my face turns the color of merlot.
In the haiku version,
metal gleams in the narrow shadow.
In the Republican version,
two guns wrap themselves in a single flag.
In the Langpo version.
idolatry yips yaps paradigm the.
In my diary version,
I wonder why everyone hates me.
In the indie film version,
a gun flickers over a mumbled tune.
In the Chekhov version,
(well, you already know.)
In the 10 o'clock news version,
the crisis in violence is rising.
In the action film version,
a shot means profits are rolling.
In the catalog version,
the smoke's hue is a burnished moss.
In the teen movie version,
a nerdy gun removes her glasses.
In the lucid dream version,
I kiss a muzzle and it blossoms.
In the music video version,
a gun turns into a mouth.