walking down to the corner

7-Eleven there in Phoenix,

sidling in for an early

morning newspaper, i

didn’t look up til i

reached the counter

and saw

            not one

but two people staring

at me, one with a

scarred red bandana

wrapped around his face,

the other, eyes watering,

silver gun in mouth.

it took me a second

to realize i was three

feet from death

and as i lept for

the door, i heard

the gun roar and

while bits of brain

littered the floor,

i fled down the street

only to have two shots

fired at me from a

darkened pickup.

my black bitch Babe

bought one and

flopped on her side,

panting last breaths.

i cut behind a house

and stood, sides heaving.

when i was later

robbed at gunpoint,

i moved to L.A.

to escape the violence.