If you see me again ...
The air becomes Spanish profanity. A knife's produced.
It shimmers for one hopeless second, slicing through
as the white consumes the table, unleashed, while the staring match
enables a peace, the slightest truce amid careless acts.
One wave of the heat. One chamber release.
Ruckus ensues. Ducking, I move from range of the AR-15,
lying, splayed in between the sofa and wall.
Then, surveying the scene, holding them off,
the enemy enters the frame of my scope, sentenced to die.
But while aiming the blow, I catch a glimpse of his eyes.
|