Christine Phillips Poet Narrative

Gun Shots

Sudden as thunder they crack in the night,
the boys in the lane leap over fences,
bottles crashing into stone walls,
and bullets whistle with echoing sound.


Political war,
Tribal war,
Gang war.
The boys fight with one another for the release of "the Don"
they rampage in the little town,
and round up all the informers.


Night comes alive,
doors open wide,
then suddenly,
"Lord, someone shot Sammi Joe!"

Lights bang!
and everyone rushes to look at the innocent one
lying peacefully in her pool of blood.

"Sammi Joe is dead!"
Her frightened mother yells.

Gunshots cracking in the night,
smashing glass,
and chiseling walls,
the burning night heat,
people scatter in the street.

Mr. Crow pisses his pants when the boys spot him as the informer
Dragged in the streets,
Crow's face flushed with the wall,
bullets puncture his head.

Further down the road,
the innocents grip tightly to their beds,
trembling,
wondering who will be next.

Bullets dances around the walls,
wailing heightens,
The massacre begins.
Blood washes the street,
dead bodies blocking the gate of the little town.

                                  ©2013 Christine Phillips

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Vince Suzadail Jr. July 23, 2013 at 6:44 PM Violence begets violence. Man usually finds what he's looking for whether consciously or sub consciously.

Sheri Fresonke Harper March 12, 2013 at 6:14 PM Oh, violent war, bad vibes shown well. You capture a convincing narrative voice.