Fight at the Mannequin Warehouse


Killer’s Kiss, 1955


Legs and torsos pitch in the currents of wild swings:

under doll-stares, the villain’s axe tears


through stocked body parts before the leading man floors him

and makes the gangster scream—it cuts here, but I know


how he scrambled to the streets, stopping under a framed sky, dark

and suddenly clear. How he forgets the taxi-dancer prize,


pencil-skirt lines, the canvas mats that burned his boxer skin.

How the cold air bites his lungs until he laughs


a tight little sound. Behind him in the warehouse,

plastic chimes in the last wind: four inverted hands on strings.




Photo By:  Night–thing

Giving = Loving. We are able to bring you content such as this through the generous support of readers like yourself. Please help us deliver words to readers. Become a regular Patreon Subscriber today. Thank you!

About Author

Kristen Herrera was born in Michigan and is currently in the final stages of earning her MFA from the University of Florida. She hopes you like her poem.


%d bloggers like this: