Prescription for Despair

Three portraits of the same woman hang
in one dull room. In the first she is surrounded
by children. In the second she is jumping off a bridge.
In the third she is giving guns to children. How they squeeze
up next to her. How they smile. Bang bang.
Trying gets in the way, she says. Just do it.
She is your mother.
I am your gun.
A raven pecks at the snow on the side of the road.
Beside the raven a fat squirrel digs.
Rainbows circle out of wet oil
enlightening this black street on a dull day.
You're trying too hard. Long live the million-heiress.
Rainbows oil-slick out from your wet heart.
What snow would you not melt for me?