January 2003 / Volume Four / Issue One
David Bates
O Positive

he slaps a 30round magazine
into the cherry bomb red body
of his electric guitar
and s t r u m s rapidfire–

a mile away the windows of the local
police station
explode to dust & coppers come
dashing out like a
mad march of ants in some
kick-hill panic

          they mount their vehicles
          hit those lights
          wail the sirens jazz
          whine the wheels

“they’re after me, babes” he says
& kisses her quick latching his
dog tags around her neck before
escaping

she is still standing there
reading his blood type
over & over
when the cops take the house
guns ablaze
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