Blood City

The season is warming up, shirts will come off then holes in the flesh of babes in their beds will blossom red. There will be no posters made, for instant martyrs, no outrage from politicians, no edge of the seat television trials, no protests or marches, no 24/7 news cycles, it will be just another day for the metropolis near the bay. People drink more as the bodies pile up. The rain is soft on the blacktops blood more easily washed away. The city is stale, ghost gusts on the lake don’t make it to the shore, where the still heavy air continuous its threat of ignition. Today and tomorrow the guns will be warming up. The dead are statistics - roaming gangs of statistics add to the deadly roll call. It’s not all bad news after several weeks a child found her lost puppy. Between the funerals there are baby showers. The city is doing just fine if we close our eyes.