Evening Red
Electro Lux Imbroglio
Sometimes we can’t tell the victims from the perps. They hurtle down rain-covered highways. They make sudden stops. They turn without much warning. We’re trying to stay calm. We can’t lose hope. When I extend my hands, everything is where it’s supposed to be. I say “Cool!” and “Awesome!” and “Got it!” In the past, we had cufflinks and tie clips. Now we have USB sticks. And still it comes as a shock when evening red blowtorches the sparrow and countermands the nightingale.
We sit outside drinking by the fire. My hair smells like the smoke of burning Confederate flags. I have to watch out for rats and raccoons and people. We aren’t using the term “serial killer” yet because we just don’t have enough evidence. The injured scream, “I need some help, I need some help.” They pretty much have bullets in every part of their bodies. But don’t worry, it isn’t a regular occurrence. The children throw stones at them so they very seldom get this close.
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The monsters were here before the superheroes. They shaved their beards to look like us. That may sound crazy, but I feel the fire touching me through my window. Nobody I ask can tell me if it’s real. The police yell at me: “You’re just like your mother. You probably have fantasies about China, too.”
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I was walking, and I heard a boom. Then it happened again. And again. I remember thinking, “Lord, I hope nobody's child is dead.” Nowadays, everybody is scared. I’m not exaggerating. We’re all being extra careful. If you don’t operate this way, you have nothing. Hand-to-hand self-defense will only take you so far. Just the other day, some guy driving past shot an older couple, no explanation, while the riot police hid bombs in abandoned vehicles. This is the kind of strange thing we see now, as if the projectionist made a mistake and played reel four before reel two.
Howie Good is the author of The Loser’s Guide to Street Fighting, winner of the 2017 Lorien Prize for Poetry and forthcoming from Thoughtcrime Press.
