A Close Call in a Lifetime of Close Calls (Blake Bumpus - Lafayette, LA)

The radpower engine was kicking and pulling

straining to climb these slippery hills.
A bullet hit the internal antenna damn near grazing my leg.
Robbing that house was a bad idea,
robbing it  with the owner inside was a worst one.

The sirens were close now. Should I ditch the cycle and escape by foot and risk getting caught?

To come all this way from that decrepit swamp only to get my ass thrown in a dungeon upon a hill?

But ahead a few dozen feet up the road was an alleyway,

perhaps a means of escape.

I slammed my rear brakes, rev-matched and downshifted to second gear.

A mistake.

The rear tire started to slide on the road

and the cycle started to slide on me.

I came to a quick stop by crashing into a metal dumpster.

(I admit I screamed when I got up.)

I yanked off my helmet and clutched my backpack

full of loot with a bleeding hand embedded with rock and dirt.

The sirens were close now.

I limped like a motherfucker as fast as I could to an open door

that spilled light like gold onto the asphalt.  

I went inside and locked the door and turned the corner.

On the other side of a silver swinging door

Were the sounds pots and pans clashing and colourful cursing.

I slid through, bee-lining between a startled dishwasher and two angry sous chefs

before I ran into a waitress holding a tray of red wine

which fell and shattered on the floor.

I paid no mind and slid through the claustrophobic candlelit restaurant

somehow finding the entrance.

The sidewalk was full of people but I was just a blur.

By chance a bus arrived right on time

and I cut through the line

shoving a handful of lambairs in the driver’s hand

and found a seat between an obese man

and a woman with an oversized fur coat in the back row.

As the bus drove off

the sirens muffled and died entirely.

And then and only then did

the panic

and pain

and euphoria

set in.

A close call

in a lifetime of close calls.