Kitchen Fire Fight

You hear the sudden warning
sounds of her staccato voice,
and don’t know you’ve been hit
until you smell the blood flowing
down your chest–
warmer than the sun,
thicker than tears,
redder than her lips.

“Rat-a-tat-a-tat,” she says
with a deadly aim and
you look for high grass,
for a shallow hole,
a burned-out building,
a dead body to hide behind–
for shelter at any cost.

You walked right into
the ambush ignoring
the sound of something breaking,
of your sense of survival,
of the hair standing up
on the back of your neck–
even the acrid smell
of cooking in the air.

You’ll live through this
moment of terror, however.
There were no Bouncing Bettys
waiting in the ground to de-man you,
no incendiary bombs from overhead,
no screaming mortar shells–
only a machine gun firing words
without pause to cut you off
at the knees.


Author: compasionatecritiques

Michael Eaton Bio Grew up in Littlefield TX and ran around with Waylon Jennings little brother. In high school lived and worked in a funeral home. First came to Austin in 1960 to attend UT. One year later enlisted in the Army. After serving came back to Austin and managed the Texas Theatre on the Drag. Was there when Whitman went on his killing spree from the Tower. Before completing school, decided to go to San Francisco State University. Moved there, and became a hippie living in a commune until graduation with a Masters in Creative Writing. Then came back to Austin and became partners in a stained glass studio, a business in which my eldest son is still involved in Houston. After two more children arrived, needed to make more money and became a new home salesman. Now retired. Recently have just completed conducting two poetry classes in assisted living centers for the elderly in Austin and Wimberley. I write poetry to stay sane in a sometimes insane world.

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