Re: Combat Zone. by Will Dockery

"j r sherman" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote

> the ONLY way your unspeakable shit could help the poetry world is as
examples of
> what not to do when writing.

As your posts serve as examples of how *not* to write a poetry critique.

Combat Zone

Driving through the combat zone
a rasta steps out,
sort of calling my name ---
a reasonable approximation.
Variation of my street name I guess.
Said he could take me to see Raine,
apparently the rastas have her locked up in a house
somewhere in the combat zone.
He wanted money for his information,
at which point I was to park and walk.
It seemed very sinister, but he smoothed it over fairly often.
I said I'd come back later,
when the bad vibes wore down.
Rasta gets crazy on me in the car,
wanting five dollars, two bucks, anything.
I give him nothing, just smoke and think.
He's got an ice pick in his hand,
then he makes like he's got a gun.
I'd already heard Raine was in jail
but i didn't expect a rasta jail.
The image crossed my mind how it would feel
if he jabbed that icepick into me
a couple of times or more.
Just curious to see if he'd do it or not,
could I stop him, I could tell he didn't know.
As we stare and talk about money.
I bummed a cigarette from him.
I told him I'd be in touch about seeing Raine.
He said, "Man, you crazy.", and walked off.
I went back home to think.

-Will Dockery 1997 (c)2002

http://www.angelfire.com/al2/dockery