I murdered serendipity in a Paris, Texas motel room
with a white oleander stem sharpened on a grind stone.
Serendipity did not seem to notice
and went about its business as if it had other appointments to keep.
My dog shied from my sap stained hand all day
while encouraging me to wash vigorously with soap and water.
Inside serendipity the oleander took root
and sprouted bright white flowers that emerged near its vest buttons.
I was surprised to learn, none of this
was new to the residents of Paris, Texas or the motel manager,
who found one of serendipity’s long brown hairs
on room one-oh-seven’s sink—
which is strange since I murdered serendipity with an oleander sprig
in room two-thirty-eight in the bed closest to the door.
Before I could check out of the motel, the police arrived—
or the marshals or the rangers or whatever they have in Paris, Texas—
and stretched crime scene tape around my car
(it being park in spot one-oh-seven).
I simply forget that the Red River was north
and started walking west along US highway eighty-two
to a Dennys brand all day breakfast,
because I was hungry and it was available nearby.
Also it is as good a place to hide as any
as I vanquished my desire for hash browns smothered under two eggs.