Marcus Slingsby
Cleaning A Murder Scene In Amsterdam Noord
Masculinity stood on both sides of the splintered door, dead-
bolted, rush job, padlocked with haste. Work boots tap out
cold tunes, grind cigarettes and smoky jokes, a different fist
of keys fits. Their teeth unleash Hell’s hollow rounds I blindly
reload with red words. A scarlet Milky Way on the back wall,
crimson handed hope and despair dyed pink in the bucket
I use to clean God knows what, who or why from the apartment
that’ll be viewed later in the week with unknowing smiles and plans.