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