Saturday, January 26, 2013

gun lover

I
had one, once -- a gun --
and cocked the pump-action
smooth,
rubbed the stock,
slick with oil-lube-hinge,
the rhythmic click-snap
pressure-crack
pump, lift, aim, sight, exhale and
stop.
pull...ease
squeeze.
I
heard the sharp-crack smack
as the big, white bird
rolled back,
off-branch,
its long, snow-perfect wings-sinews-muscles-mind
came apart...

I
broke
I
stole
I
took
I
stood over the open maw
of the dead-pale owl,
red leaking

held my limp gun in my
spent hand
and
I
wondered what it is
I
let go
I
watched the gun fall
the grass bent, screaming no.
saw the blood-dripped feathers
I
fell
I
knees
I
prayed
God! No! God!
to implacable time.

I
walked the earth,
alive.
marked.
I
left my gun and walked,
marked,
alive,
and
wondered
how to love.

2 comments:

  1. you just described a specific day of my childhood, bee bee gun though.I left my gun as well.

    -jorge

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh yeah, man. Mine was a ten-pump BB gun, too.

    ReplyDelete

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