Sunday, April 17, 2011


I learned to hate and fear the gun
Sunday mornings, 1980s
Bolt rifle against my cheek
Gun oil stinging nostrils
Stock ground into shoulder
Bullied and bossed about
By tinpot drill instructor
Leaving China into Mongolia
Fierce green uniformed woman
Rooted me with her AK-47
Her partner squinted
Between passport and face
In Munich, the Hauptbanoff
Three stout square black Glocks
Followed my moves
I stepped onto the platform
Leaving Paris, Gare du nord
H&K 9mm muzzle’s black stare directed me
Open and empty my terrorist bags
In Cairo
Nickel plated 38 revolver waved
Me into a room for questioning
An ugly red beard hung from my chin
In Okombo
A Skorpion submachine pistol
Ushered me down into
Darkened tombs where
Crocodile-headed god slept
On a California highway
A silver service pistol
Nervously unholstered
Lay waiting during the routine stop
Guns are a bully’s lover
Power of Death
In an idiot’s hands

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