Silversnaking on its cheap reflection
his gaze seeks upward thighs, delight
of tender talons,
eyes to rip her stockings.
Rainy nights are rotting teeth seduction.
tapered fingers, priestlike, locking
round his silver crutch,
his thirst is might, yet waiting…
Darkly as a needle finds his vein
it’s neon bright
when from the church the midnight tolls
and heard the frantic footsteps
soles on asphalt, puddlesplashing
keychain in her fist, his breath behind.
Her door to safety a block ahead
heartbeats in her throat
a taste of copper, bloodrushed pace.
She fumbles with her keys,
a muffled voice behind:
“It’s me, my darling, it’s just me”

Charing Cross Road, 1937 by Wolfgang Suschitzky

Charing Cross Road, 1937 by Wolfgang Suschitzky

Linked to Magpie tales.

January 4, 2016

33 responses to “Nightrush

  1. love this. Seeming dark to begin, but safety in the end…I think??…love “puddlesplashing”. Your image pairs perfectly with the poem.

  2. And then he kills her! (I’ve been reading a lot of murder mystery books.) Lol! I always enjoy your writes there’s always surprises! Hugs!

  3. This dark narrative conveys the controlled panic of the scenario very well. Sadly, such scenes play out in too many cities around the world with predators living among us.

  4. I was attacked from behind while walking down a rain soaked sidewalk at night, could hear his footsteps, feel the pain as my shoulder bag was ripped away, a finger laid open as I struggled to hold on. Long ago, but some memories refuse to disappear. Fine poetry has a way of connecting that cannot be denied.

  5. This is a brilliantly drawn horror scene. (I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck!) In fact, the tension and dread were rendered and escalated so chillingly – I have a sneaky suspicion, she has not made it to sanctuary at all (a muffled voice behind) and if the piece were to continue, the reader would be in for one helluva twist.

  6. Testosteron is such an steely, eely, touch-my-feely kind of poetic. The addict night crescendoes here are fitting as a steel glove.

  7. I hope she has been to self defense school, Bjorn. Kick him where it hurts and stick your fingers in his arm, all the while letting our ferocious blood curdling screams at him.
    This reminds me of when I had no car and had to walk home at night through the ‘bad part’ of town.

  8. Terrifying and very immediate and real–you capture the urgency of the photo, the darkness rushing behind the runner, human and otherwise–I especially liked ‘eyes to rip her stockings…’ phew!

  9. Oh my, you did write a terrifying poem … and althoughI see most have taken this as having a happy ending, I think that in the age of “post-nightmare” and some terrible realities, that : “it’s only me my darling” does not really sound very reassuring.

  10. Very tense and atavistic writing. I had someone try to snatch my bag once, and it was almost banal. The would-be thief looked richer than me, and I refused to let go. I’ve never been chased by a hungry vampire, though. What a way to go!

  11. Being a lady that worked all sorts of shifts and commuted 30+ miles at all hours this make my heart race. I always carried my keys in a defensive way.

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