Sometimes we're just lucky to avoid all the hazards in life. |
Natural Born Killers By Aurelio Fingertips bloody and desperate; my grip loosens as Natural Born Killers marry at the Rio Grande Gorge, bride tosses a pale scarf from the iron bridge flutters like a death wish into an abyss; the bride wears tight white shorts over tight brown thighs, and a smell of dangerous anticipation. Yesterday's newspaper swirling at the bridge, a smiling picture of a boy released finger by finger from his desperate iron grip by his two best friends who toss a coin after him, "You're gonna die, man, you can't fly," for a twenty buck high, he couldn't pay, he's gonna die, man, he can't fly. Natural Born Killers tender in love, embrace under roiling red skies, jagged red rocks rip away my fingernails, and my grip turns to dust. My screams crushed in a thunderous chorus of surging water and a silver coin hurtles past me, flipping head over tails, Lady Luck genuflects to a Lord of Chance. Deep inside the chasm, a whiskered catfish flops like a leviathan, a sea monster the color of mud, flopping in air, yanking slivers of air into its lungs, a clack, clack wet sound of suffering, kernels of corn and a silver coin glint from its ripped viscera. In the roguish water, I can see the catfish peering at me with human eyes, water pushing its way into the cuvito, riots in the cold culvert, a mortuary slab where echoes the clack, clack starving, sucking wet sound of suffering slicing my lungs into white light from a plastic bag tightened over my head. My ankles suspended in water, entangled in chains of barbed wire, muffled sad songs and blue babies burst at the surface like iredescent bubbles, sad songs are always so blue, baby. So I run my hands along the smooth sandy cuvito, searching for an opening, no words or wind, wending my way in panic through collapsed lungs. Silver dollar plunges before me landing heads up, Natural Born Killers incensed walk away cursing, and I step over rose petals strewn in my path, grateful for one more day. |