Thanatos Machine

You don’t need a machine to do that.

A plastic bag will do. But he built it,

his tools cast about in the unit

while he got up his nerve to use it.

Nothing more was stored there.

A poured cement floor, a triple-locked door

after door after door down a corridor

reeking with the odor of everything over.

In heretofore phrases, he left a note

outlining his Help! in argot

so wrought it was hopeless to ferret out

his intent, meant or not.

A ball-peen hammer was all she had.

The shards cut her. What else had he hid?

At least, she cried, he’d thought ahead.

He drove home instead.