I’ve rarely been gun shy.
I was 7 or 8 when I found the black case
under their bed like it was nothing.

It wasn’t hard to find.
I mean, who doesn’t look under the bed?
And there it lay on the floor like some sustained black dream
blooming in the dark.

It wasn’t hard to hold.
The case was unlocked
And it opened like it was nothing.
It was cold and unloaded and
I could hold it so steady
You’d swear I was Wild Bill reborn.

There’s another memory in there somewhere.
Embedded in that touch of metal.
I’m 7 or 8 (or maybe 9 or 10) and
I’m standing in front of a class.

50 eyes on me, aiming, holding steady, loaded
With something I don’t understand.
They’re waiting for me to talk and, in a breath, I’m gun-shy.