AT THE LOCAL LOCKSMITH SHACK,I ORDER AN EXTRA HOUSE KEY

by Alejandro Escudé

The locksmith grinds it, sparks flying, but he stops to point
to the TV screen, the news on, cop killings in New York,

and sternly the locksmith warns the killing signals the end of days.
I tell him cops have been shot before. He looks at me, his eyes 

peering over his glasses, “Do you read the Bible?” I answer, no.
He says, “You should, for you, for your family.” 

When he hands me the new key, I look down
at the the locksmith’s fingers, stained black, phosphorescent. 

In the reenactment on the news the shooter is fire engine red
and the cops are blue. One falls, then the other falls too. 

They do not animate the red man shooting himself.
I wonder the life that brought the locksmith to the Apocalypse. 

A myriad keys hanging above his head, lying around; silver
and gold keys, keys to free anything from its locked place.

Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems, My Earthbound Eye, in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.