K2 by B. S. Dixon
She smokes to chase the devil that burned her. Burned her chin, chest, neck and hands. Waving her cane, she thinks she finally has him cornered. Car horns and screeching tires, the devil trembles before her, frightened—until that bastard cop pulls her to safety. Later she’ll tell me how she doesn’t want to chase anymore. She’ll tell me she’s tired and can’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Later, she’ll forget we spoke. Later, she’ll stop me on the street and ask me for a few bucks. I’m not supposed to give her money. Later I’ll give her money anyway, and quietly hope she catches him this time.
B. S. Dixon is working on his first poetry collection, Outreach, about his work with the homeless population in Boston, MA. His work has most recently been printed in The Red Eft Review, Right Hand Pointing, The Eunoia Review, Poem Wars and Boston Literary Magazine.
photo by Daniel Lee