It was me.
Nobody else can know.
Are they dead?
I sure think so.
Could I say it was an accident?
I think not believably, no.
What does it matter if they find out?
My tires crunched loudly into the gravel of my driveway as I grind the brakes
No, even without anything to lose,
I decide this secret is best left to me alone.
I rush inside my small, quiet home
It was still snowing slightly
Nothing has moved, the fire kept the pipes warm
More than 4 feet of snow and still counting
Temperatures radically dropping
In the back, storage room, a plastic bag in my hand
Sirens approaching in a bundle
I strip most apparel and tuck it into the bag
The gun stays in my hand as I rush out the back door.
Dig down the side of the porch, tuck in the bag, cover the mess
Back inside I ran, still deciding
Gun in hand.
Will I make a standoff?
Too much risk, not the way I’d like to go just yet
Parade of lights beginning to flow past the thick brush of the property
A crunching scramble on slippery snow
And I throw the gun under the nearest tree.
Wait – the hole would show.
They were making the final turn now, engines revving closer…
The branches -the fresh snow
A swift shove to the nearest brings the cover
This will get me some time.
I walk out a few more steps,
Bare skin freezing in the wind
Little they know, thanks to the snow
My hands go into the air as I am surrounded
And I pray we have another long winter.