slippery

just 30 after midnight, a stray bullet came through the window and left the woman dead in a pool of blood and broken glass for her son to find.

this was my neighborhood, this could've been my window. it could've been my mother or someone else's aunt. people left flowers behind the fence, beneath her window, and they are all mostly dried up and withered now, only the plastic the same.

I walk by, think how her window was only steps from mine, and how any night, if I walk by my window to get a glass of water, that might be me.