Agent Dewey Smith-Cotton is undercover for the F.B.I. in Chicago.




Ch. 7: Dewey Gets Shot

 

The next thing he knows he's on the ground, 67th and Cottage Grove,

looking up at a black sky, a waning moon,

a city block of bricks, boarded windows, and hoplessness.

 

His pants are wet and it isn't raining.

He raises his head and groans.

Under the nasueating glow of an amber streetlight

 

he sees blood, a lot of it, coming from the inside of his thigh,

and it's coming in arcs.

He can pass out or hit nine-one-one.

 

The next time he opens his eyes he sees the green tile walls

and focused light of an E.R.; and faces,

doctors' and nurses' faces, all too concerned, surrounding him.

 

Fuck, he says, or thinks, he doesn't know which,

this is most definitely not good.

 

 

 

 





Poetry by jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2016-11-20 at 07:35

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text



montana
I am intrigued in these. I am curious what the inspiration was behind them. I enjoy them very much dear friend. <3
2016-11-27


Lawrence Beck
This is fun. It's like trying to figure out what's going on inside of a house by looking through a leaded glass window.
2016-11-22


Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
this is so interesting, this scene and more.
could this be the "arc" of the covenant? hmmm
I am intrigued.
2016-11-21