THE SWITCH IN OUR HEADS
Marlon fingered the marbled, glass cubes he held in his other hand
His fingers explored the shallow dints like he was feeling his woman’s body
He enjoyed the gentle scrape as they rubbed against each other.
Six, three, one and two, he turned them over individually,
The door had opened at the far end of the wooden, polished room floor
that gleamed in the sunlight, that lit the darkened room like a Hopper panel
with all the richest, darkest tones and the two men in full view eyed each other.
The painting itself was around 12 feet by 6 and hung on the one un-windowed wall
It was a massive landscape of the Wyoming Oil Fields caught in late afternoon sun,
Full of rugged detail with long grasses and a low, broken and wired fence
It ran off into the middle-distance providing focus to an otherwise featureless daub
Yet Marlon loved it as it offered hope and a breath of perspective to his city life
He often stood, legs splayed, hand on chin, comfortably content in its vast scape
Today it provided only back-drop scenery to this drama, too late to reconvene
Angry words ensued as the men shouted the length of the sun-splattered hall
Bill’s face grimaced, almost contorted spat disdain and unforgiveness
Marlon could not have explained his point of view with more restraint
He pleaded that the case had other outcomes, violence was not necessary
Bill was carrying a weapon which he flailed, describing patterns in the air
By now Marlon’s good arm had raised and he pulled the trigger with control
Bill crumpled, fell awkwardly and the dice bounced loose on the polished floor!