Salt

He missed his one claim to fame. Wives really will hold you down. And I have to schlump certain people into certain categories so others will know, just what I mean. And what terrible things did these terrible people do to have their names become descriptors for other transgressors. “You know, he’s a real Zach Shields.” And suddenly, it clear, we all know, we can all agree.
Not that I’m a saint. Not that you don’t scowl and hiss when I’m mentioned, when he sings that song or sends that look. Women will tear each other apart, and I just rather fight from afar.
I was trying to break myself down into shapes and hide behind a solid layer of black, brown, pink, gold. My freckles are making a comeback, new sun, new season is calling them out and I’m exotic, animal like, a pattern where others are smooth, one endless color. The North Star has moved its location to my left cheek, find your constellations from that spot on.
He missed his claim to fame and I am glad for it, I rejoice in his small nature and small words and banished situation. I imagine him, cowering in deserts, naked and crying. How sad, how simple, how pathetic. And if I told you, he truly deserved this fate, could you guess to what he had done?

Guess.