491 Magazine, January 2015
He hands me the weapon
With a half-shrugged apology.
Bastards took the other one, his phrase
Brined in acid & open regret.
He wants to say, “You get what you get.”
I cage it in the office safe, a step in
No direction, as useless as mythology
To the god of steel & war. At day’s
Close of business, under civil mandate
I’ll return his rock of fire & hate.
He is twenty-three. It will happen
Soon. His scars are an anthology
To our dark nonchalance. He plays
Out of sight: the street is the street. Let
Blood remain our double debt.