"Hustler's Sport" by R. Nikolas Macioci
CW :: Please note this piece contains depictions of violence against LGBTQIA+ identities.
Hustler’s Sport
You didn't leave the gay bar with the man
you shared drinks with and talked to
for over an hour, a handsome man in his 20s,
closed-cropped, brown hair, depthless green eyes
you couldn't see what intent lay at the bottom of.
He hadn't said anything or made any moves
to suggest sexual interest.
Outside, however, you found him loitering
under a streetlamp. He nodded. You sensed
his signal to follow, and you did. Side by side,
you dawdled down an alley between ramshackled
buildings toward the parking lot. His quick
movements slid a pocket knife from your neck
to your navel, as if he were a slaughterhouse butcher.
Blood, the color of a tropical sunset, gushed out of you,
mixed with brown leaves, cigarette butts, beer cans.
Your eyes glossed open past possibility of seeing
starlight reveal your insides.
Morning news didn't mention the LGBTQ murder,
the hustler, or his new acquaintance. It didn't happen
in this Bible-thumping, midwestern city clean
as a white sheet over an autopsy.
Photo Credit: Staff