The Bridgeport Slasher
The Bridgeport
Slasher playing
loose on
the back
streets with
his blade
& his
hammer red
blood purple
bruises the
colors of
gore &
Easter
front-page
newsworthy
yellow journalism
purple prose
& why
does he
take everyone’s
cell phone
& not
their wallets?
He’s an
equal rights
slayer men
women red
skin black
brown &
yellow but
this is
getting us
nowhere.
They bring
in a
psychic with
a color
wheel orange
socks &
big breasts
maybe a
Gypsy maybe
not maybe
even the
Bridgeport Slayer
who’s to
say &
wait a
minute back
up a ways
what’s with
the cell
phones?
E.T. call
home says
the Gypsy
or Slayer
or psychic
or maybe
all three
wrapped
in one
sitting on
the edge
of the
sergeant’s desk
fanning herself
with her
color wheel,
her skin
golden.
What? says
Chief Detective
O’Reilley what
the fuck
anyway &
Easy big
boy says
the Gypsy &
shakes a
rattle in
his face.
He’s not
of this
world she
says he’s
not one
of us
he’s from
Mars.
Ah-hah!
says O’Reilley
& the
Gypsy spins
her color
wheel to green
green for
envy green
for gangrene
green for
Martians &
that narrows
the search.
In comes
the FBI
& the
NSA in
comes a
man selling
balloons filled
with helium
in comes
three coke
heads &
a rat’s
nest of
freelancers
in comes
Homeland Security
& they
all put
their heads
together.
The Martian
blasts off
for Mars
the color
wheel gets
sold on
eBay the
Gypsy lives
out of
wedlock with
O’Reilley
& they
raise three
candycane children.
The sun
sets without
incident &
the scene
fades
to grey.
