by Jan Steckel
 |
| Nick Anderson |
Sunny sweats on her stoop,
says she’s seen raccoons and cats
mating in her backyard. They’ve bred
a tribe of unholy hell beasts,
coon cats, who haunt the bushes.
She also says we shouldn’t call the cops
if her ex violates the restraining order again.
She doesn’t know whose blood
stains the street today,
the woman gunned down in front
of Carlos’s taco truck. Helicopters
roar overhead, caution tape and wagons
cut off our exit from the block for hours
as officers snap photos, pick up shell casings.
People carry out chairs to sit and watch.
The children are all walleyed and gabbling:
¡Pistolas! ¡Policía! ¡Ambulancia!
Everyone has Covid, except those out
dodging bullets. In Texas, someone shot up
a school again, but that seems far away.
Jan Steckel’s book Like Flesh Covers Bone (Zeitgeist Press, 2018) won Rainbow Awards for LGBT Poetry and Best Bisexual Book. Her poetry book The Horizontal Poet (Zeitgeist Press, 2011) won a Lambda Literary Award. Her fiction chapbook Mixing Tracks (Gertrude Press, 2009) and poetry chapbook The Underwater Hospital (Zeitgeist Press, 2006) also won awards. She lives in Oakland, California, USA.
