Tracer

I’m so damn angry
that it sometimes feels like
razors in my eyes.
I will admit though,
it purifies something in me
that has never once been
cleaned the way it should have.
I’ve driven to work
with half of my windshield
still covered by the new morning’s
ice and still survived to see
the traffic lights all changing
into colors they are different from.
I ask questions about the gun
hanging on the hook
made out of plastic on the rack
carved out of cheap wood
to look like something
out of somewhere else entirely.
I now know what a tracer is
placed every five rounds
in the magazine, to fire bright,
and light up all that you are aiming at.
The pumpkin patches and Christmas tree farms
have a seasonal rivalry
but the smart ones grow a little bit of everything.
The city’s full this week with people
just in town to watch the races
and see the faces of a different
group of strangers.
All sports are better with gambling
especially the ones with little
to no athleticism actually involved.
I like to lose a little money
on the long shots every now and then
and pretend that there are chances
left for miracles. I’m usually wrong
and run my mouth about what I don’t
understand but I’m hoping you’ll correct me
in your purple cloak that’s darker than
the night. It makes you stand out
like a skulking bat slid softly
on the darkness by its wings while
using screams to chart a course
and mark the future.

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