BANG, BANG, BANG, Blam(e)!

Bang Bang Bang, Blam(e)


Killers in the name of love?
Or some-such “lust” after the Intrepid Fox
In London Town or was that just drunk?
Bang, bang, bang, you’re still the one.

Could have been a Mom.
Say, mine was 23 when she skipped town
Travelled West, see what’s going down
Stalled in Alberta, Dad did her undone.
(So yes, technically, I’m from out West…)

What a bloody fucking rodeo!
You know horses, raising them for polo.
Tell me, how do you move when they buck?
In the same-fell swoop as you deak post-fuck?

Killers we became in the name of some fun.
You: your banging – shot apart the old of us.
Me: one quick hit – killing a new part of us.
Just when I thought you were the bad one …

We’re both gun-slingers, baby!
Go from shooting the shit
To shooting in fits
Better if you had shot the wad on my tits
… in tremble and vibrations of orgasm.
Ha! I did not even spasm (No little death).

Just when you think you shot it bullseye
It’s me who dodged a bullet, now didn’t I?
I took the last shot at our potential lifelong connexion
My aim was dead-on; yours left shrapnel and a mess.

There was no one before, nor never will be again
Who will ever shoot at such close range at me as this.

Bang, bang, bang you’re still the one
Who when he takes aim with his gun
— Kills people
And blames them for getting in the way
Smiling sickly cuz he said simultaneously, ‘stay…’

An empty apology comes on the heels of dismay:
“Sorry, it was a mistake, but—”
An empty apology comes on the verge of blame:
“It’s unfortunate …”
Ya cuz when you shot at the hole
You shot me down whole.

© Sylvie Hill 2014

dixon / 26cm / spray paint and enamel on canvas board / 2007 — with Juan Carlos Noria.