The man with the gun

 

I
Glock 9mm.
is putty in his hands.
He slides it into the secret pocket
of his uniform,
stirring the barbarians
in the blood –
he fondles it
& the world trembles…
The squeeze of the trigger
all but terminates
the laws of reason & history
O the boot camps of Central Luzon
& Tel Aviv
where dogs eat dogs –
& the blood-soaked fields
that separate masters from the herd!
If only the dead could speak.

II
He feels naked, of course,
without it; gamely sucks in
the smell of burnt flesh
& the whiz of bullets in the air –
life, he says, is short & brutish.
He cannot afford to hesitate.
O the fatal lightness of the Glock!
Women, cheap/expensive keep it
close to their breasts.
Doing it is cool, the perfect rush
even if, mourners wail,
all killings should stop!
If only God could weep.

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