I had just fought this war and come back,
Minding my own business and drinking beer.
Then I met this girl at Joe’s
Who wrote poems on the back
Of napkins with ketchup.
Show me your heart, she said.
Don’t have one, I said.
She said hearts were what made her go.

Finally, I dug up the old, dark thing.

And she said, oh, but this is a grenade.

I told you, I said, and bit the pin.