No one sees the gun,
but the blood
is a concert of angels
dripping red feathers.
The boy collapses,
becomes an angry tattoo
of gray smoke;
vapors of gritty perfume.
When no ambulance arrives,
he sighs a parting shadow,
the transient ghost song
of a bullet or a saint.
Angel Zapata was born in NYC, but currently resides just outside of Augusta, Georgia. Some of his flash fiction and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Powder Burn Flash, Doorknobs & Bodypaint, Every Day Fiction, Every Day Poets, Membra Disjecta, Flashes in the Dark, and The Absent Willow Review. He is husband to his blond goddess and father of four boys obsessed with all things ninja.
Posted on August 26, 2009 in Other
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10 Responses to “DRIVE-BY • by Angel Zapata”
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August 26th, 2009 at 1:41 am
A poignant piece.
Full of excellent, thought-provoking imagery.
August 26th, 2009 at 4:56 am
Angel,
This is great!
August 26th, 2009 at 6:05 am
Excellent, Angel! Sad & gritty. Well painted!
August 26th, 2009 at 8:11 am
The cold horror of people who just stand there and don’t do anything.
August 26th, 2009 at 11:45 am
Your poems are always amazing. Nice work, Angel.
August 26th, 2009 at 12:20 pm
capturing a gritty essence here – well done
August 26th, 2009 at 12:31 pm
Haunting.
–dj
August 26th, 2009 at 5:03 pm
What a stark and disturbingly beautiful poem.
Well done, Angel!
August 27th, 2009 at 5:27 am
Loved the line “dripping red feathers”. Well done!
August 31st, 2009 at 8:15 pm
One of my former students was a victim of a drive by . . . this captures the moment, I can only image, vividly and poetically. Thank you.