the drink slips down and
grips on the belly
the bloods rush quick and
tongues are brandished
deftsome parry and
sparks spin offward
we sheathe and step back
glare eye steady
red-faced but no
red blood drawn
clothes torn but we’re
still not cross-eyed
cross within but
honour to the enemy
we mop our brows and
smile fake friendly
filling up lungs, with a
nod continue
making a stake to
plunge right in you
a lash and smash
and slap and skewer
dredging up jibes from the
darkest sewer
suddenly, one of us
falls down laughing
you hate that face and there
is no masking
you step on the neck and you
watch him gasping
his final word is:
careless rasping…
oh shit fuck, i
didn’t mean to kill him
i never meant bad i was
only gonna drill him
he hated me more than
i hated he
he was in his right to
fight or flee
like the evenings;
drunken arguments,
rolling forward
slowly darkening
just one bullet and
just one gun
no surrender till the
blood red sun
Santeria candles and a drunken fight turned two friends into blood enemies. I lost the battle and died, but i was reborn into new growth. My companion won and survived the fight, and thus had to stay in that world of his creation.
Leave a Reply