Approximate

by Lee Potts

Like a man of great and thin age selling his snapping, twisting dog to a blind man. Or like a thief leaving his door open behind him, his gun snared in lace and under newspaper on the nightstand. Like a man knocking. Knowing someone could be with her. But he finds her alone, except for shadows like small children tugging at her skirt, waiting for her to smile. And like a farmer’s wife, recently widowed, who wants to face the banker alone, she turns on lights, one after the other, sends all her children to the back room. And they stand there, he like the blind man convinced he can cross streets because he holds a leash. She, like the widow holding up her husband’s shotgun for the first time. And she struggles against the far heavy end.