Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

John Rambo


A light rain falls on and
somewhere the fugitive
John Rambo is hiding.
The helicopter drew first
blood from the sky and
now it touches down
to kick up the snow.
Disappeared down that cave
with hand-spun torch ablaze,
that John Rambo, with his
blue jeans on. He was never
gentle, John Rambo the man,
but never wanted any other
to die by him, but that sheriff, O
lust-open poured sheriff: we want
him gutted in the streets
for pushing John Rambo. All
the ads are for cigarettes,
John Rambo, but you stitch
yourself up, and you’re selling us
fire. I’ll listen to you cry, John
Rambo, bullets at the corners
of your eyes. I’ll call you John. It’s
a bad time for everyone, John,
but We’ll cruise, remember, until the tires
fall off
. A light fall rains on and
the fragile men, John Rambo, and
the flower gardens too, we’re all
tired, we’re tired, we tried.

Ryan Luz (rhymes with buzz) is a second-year student in the University of California at San Diego's creative writing MFA program. He takes photographs with 35mm film, considers himself a good whistler, and enjoys sitting so close to his friend that that their shoulders touch. He once named a cat Scruples.