Howard does their smiles
with a rivet gun -pfft pfft-
two studs in either cheek.
At last, he's found his metier.
He combs still-growing hair
over exit wounds, cooing in a slight
subvocal manner like his mother
used to. He finds it soothing
and, in some strange way, he imagines
they do too. He's never been allowed
to look after someone before -
folks sneered as if it a bad smell,
sometimes literally (building that manse
out of dung left him pungent
for a full month) -
he finds he likes it.
He runs a hand across their cold arms,
holds them in their blindness.
Most would call it creepy.
Howard calls it kindness.
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