Nobody shoots anybody by Philip Quinn

Nobody shoots anybody
(for Michael Eligon fatally shot on Milverton Ave. by Toronto police on Feb. 3, 2012)


Adam, the first-born son, cold from a dream, and wearing a blue hospital gown and scissors for

convenience, that’s me I said to myself, standing there so alone

Left the buzzing phone behind, one more cell to escape, as the shopkeeper tussles me to pay

a good set of keys in the motor will keep the thing running but the woman screams, and my socks

slip on the sidewalk as I make for the exit

“Where is he?” shouts the man                               wrong end of the tunnel

another equally lost                                                 points to a driveway

But I’m leaving, a fine line, a zombie-walk that only the toque-wearing dead can do taking down the clown

Leah’s maid, a tow of Jacob’s sons, Gad and Asher

Looping talk in my head of a ruined Biblical city

Rats lice and medical texts

Lot and his daughters took refuge there while visiting. Got to find my way home. In my Father’s house,

many rooms. Try many doors

Surrounded by a wailing

Explorer of a massive wall, a ‘temple’ but nowhere to hide even when the door knob squeaks open

     Men running towards me following instructions from the Supreme Commander

A uniform darkness when 12 yell as one

lost can’t they see we’re all lost and afraid

One brother held out the key

(to the kingdom come?)

      Offer my shaking scissor hands to him, stumbling forward

But something bit my right shoulder, spun me around

     reached into my stomach to still the hunger, if only mother hadn’t travelled so widely

   incognito for the maccaboy

A black boot, one final kick into the hear after, murder for the throne, brittle and crystalline

More wailing, God shouted they can’t touch me as even they cloud me

Philip Quinn lives in Toronto and online at

Published Books:

Dis Location, Stories After the Flood (Gutter Press 2000)

The Double, a novel. (Gutter Press 2003)

The SubWay (BookThug 2008)

The Skeleton Dance, a novel (Anvil Press 2009)

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Poetry, Writing

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