Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, July 4, 2016

Sonnet #3


He pulled a gun to force his way right now
Like shouting louder at his brother's shout
Whoever shouts the loudest wins, then blows
And after blows, exhaustion, guns come out

It should have been a simple trade of bullets
Two angry men, two guns, frightened family seconds
This transaction stands, you shoot, I shoot
Then afterwards we both will know we're Men

The bullets fly so quick, forget before they hit
Neighbors said they thought some kid with fireworks
Forget how triggers pulled so fast, they spit
It felt like wet bone fireworks. She's struck

She's hit, you shot her, oh my god, my god
You missed. We stood so close. You missed.


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