When the curfew came down
in Paris only the fools and old folk
stayed to watch the gun-smoke action
sequence, the melting gold, the neon
street fight, and lip-smack of flesh.
The intergalactic ash changed shop-
keepers into bandits looting blood,
marrow, and everything in-between.
Foolish, I thought a repeating rifle
from the forties and two boxes
full of shells would keep me safe
and warm. Dawn came again without
the sound twenty tanks should make.
I crept and crawled through rotting
men and fruit for food and drink.
I was bitten, and killed him, and now
turning, say goodbye. This is not
a good year for red wine.