The Hunt
On stage on a mission.
I’m the real deal, no imposter.
Ethereal buck, unreliable rifle-
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP! Fucking fuck!
Fine. I’ll wake up. My bed
is sinking. I’m fried
and made of sweat.
My only move is hit
the ground running.
Molasses traffic. Mind open
and twitchy. I scraped all day.
Cracked the safe, she was
empty. After the flurry
I stomped back home.
Ready for dark rum
and oxtail. I tore
the propaganda poster
from my front door.
He whispered “Read me.”
I let a gust of wind take him.
I’ve got enough problems
without his trickery.