Familial Tax
Intubated mother writing a note that says groceries
Shes worried about home and still expects the worse of me
The clots in her brain haven't clouded her judgment
To say she loves me she's still too reluctant
As she heals she's more herself, and she's a pessimist
I feel guilty for thinking maybe the brain won't recover this
Maybe she will love me wholly, for who I am
Rather than scoffing and telling me im not a man
We cant choose our love ones, but what if they also hate
Like building a tower knowing crumbling is its fate
And this spire casts shadows, like a sundial of defeat
Disappointment in her eyes, she doesnt even need to speak
This hospital room an arena, im competing against history
Theres a pressure looming, theres a weird energy
The unknowns stack up, question marks throughout
A priest was here earlier i wonder what thats all about
She's helpless
She's fine
She's fighting
She's died
Theres the passing of the feelings then the feelings of the passing
I couldn't have predicted that within an hour id be laughing
A pressure relieved and a chasm born
New grief replacing anxiety well worn
Mourning mornings grow into days of despair
How will i know im wrong without you there
Because you can't now, im focusing on me
And goddammit im puffing my chest out on my own two feet
I've only seen myself through your eyes, now I fully exist
Staring in the mirror for years saying “is this it”
But now im a person now im myself
Nobody will take that away, no way in hell
She's fighting
She's fine
She's helpless
She's died
As time passes bits of you materialize
Like when im down on myself or have pain in my eyes
You hurt me because of the hurt in you
Id say youre forgiven but that not true
You didnt ruin me but dammit you tried
Never thought id feel relief when you died
Standing at your casket my tears lied
Not yours anymore my life is MINE
In for a penny
"Clyde, I don't know about this."
"C'mon, Bonnie girl. Don't you love me?"
"Aw, Clyde, you know I do, but this is crazy talk."
"Ain't you tired of being poor? Goin' to bed hungry? Barely makin' a living waitin' tables? When there's tables to wait. Livin' in a shack on the wrong side of town while the other side drinks champagne in mansions?"
"Well, yeah, but..."
"I want to give you champagne," he said, pulling her close. "I want to give you pretty dresses and all the hats and shoes you want."
"I don't need all that. I just want you, Clyde." She paused then said, "And maybe a camera with some film."
He laughed. "Whatever you want," he said, kissing her. "If you really love me, you'll do this. For us."
"Clyde, I just don't know..."
"All you have to do is drive, Bonnie girl. I'll do the rest."
It was a rural gas station. No one got hurt and Clyde took Bonnie shopping when they got far enough away.
But the money ran out, as it will when there's none coming in, so Clyde planned the next job.
And the next.
And the next.
And each time, Bonnie argued a little less.
Then he planned a bank job.
"That's too much, Clyde. The gas stations, the small stores, they're all far from everything. But a bank? In the center of town? We could get caught. You could go back to jail."
"I ain't going back to jail, Bonnie," he responded angrily. "It ain't no place for nobody," he said more softly, thinking back to the head he'd bashed in after the guards looked the other way while he got bent over in the john. He'd make them all pay.
"This ain't no different than the others, Bonnie. And we can take a longer break. Maybe settle down for a bit somewhere, living off what we get from the bank. Take some pictures with that new camera I'm gonna get you..."
"Clyde..."
"In for penny..."
She sighed. "In for a pound...all right."
So, they pulled off the bank job.
Then a few more.
And then they stole a new car, or three, kidnapping the owners as well to keep them from notifying the police too soon. Clyde gave them some money and food when Bonnie dropped them off on a dirt road somewhere far from where they picked them up.
And then he killed a sheriff. Or two. Or ten.
And Bonnie stayed by his side.
The police raided one of their hideouts, but Bonnie and Clyde escaped though they'd had to leave their stuff behind. The authorities developed the film in the camera they found. Amongst the pictures was one the newspapers published, and the public loved, which showed Bonnie smoking a cigar and holding a gun. Cigar smoking gun moll. She was just posing for the camera, they thought.
What they didn't know was that it was the gun with which she'd killed the man standing between her and the exit from the bank.
I mean, her man was in there.
The gun was aimed at his head.
She pulled the trigger first.
I mean, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?