The boys on the street ran with pellet guns
cul-de-sacs mirrored in their wild eyes wet
noses sycamore seeds lodged in their hair
gravelly knees forefingers tucked tight around
triggers like they’d been taught to hold
weapons they’d shoot you if you were playing
or not two shots to the knee a hot red colon
and wet hot tears under the living-room light.
In the blue-black wash of teatime, I watch them still
run rampant in the street, as guns turn to sticks,
turn to tin cans, turn to stones, ‘til they turn and
run home, beating at the back gate: burning,
full. I clack on my pen and begin my resurgence,
stretching out words, counting my bullets.
-
Author:
Ryan Robson-Bluer (
Offline) - Published: January 22nd, 2023 14:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments1
Very observational. No judgements such as these boys enculturated into violence early?. After a brief survey - I like your style.
My personal horror at seeing young people play with toy guns was certainly the inspiration behind it - the judgment I'd hoped was somewhat implicit, not overboard. Thanks for the comment DD :))
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