Guns

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