Romantics, My Ass!

by Doug Draime

Byron drilled him as he was
coming in the door
of Mary’s Bar,
with his colt 44.

The bullet hit Shelly
just under the collarbone,
and went through
his silk blouse,
coming out his right
shoulder blade

Then it hit Keats’
cell phone, as he was calling
the cops on his
crazy-drunk friends, and he
started thinking - as parts
of his phone flew all over
the bar - that maybe
these fuckers might just be
revolutionaries, after all.