The boys play a game

On the east side of town

The rules are secret

And nobody wins or loses

They kneel behind parked cars

To reload imaginary pistols

Then cock back 

Step out onto the street again and 

Aim their lethal fingers

Bare footed and faces dirty

Like fallen angels

One of them films the play

One of them goes home and makes notes

Every detail

In a yellowing moleskine

Sketches outlines of the fake dead

Two of them drop their guns and fist fight

Hearts rattling as they trade punches

Drawing blood to wash off later

Two minutes till the close of play

Is announced

Usually from a window by a mother with

Warm hands

Nervous but warm

And this combination makes her

Almost glamorous

…
Tristan Foster is a writer from Sydney, Australia. His debut short story collection Letter to the Author of the Letter to the Father was published from Transmission Press.