It feels so good to shoot a gun,
to stand with your legs apart
holding a nine millimeter in both hands
aiming at something can’t run.
Over and over I rip holes.
in the paper target clamped to its hanger,
you see it there awaiting its fate,
and so you pull the trigger and
with those shots fired you are pleased to
know that this target can’t escape.
You begin to understand why some
boys will use such a thing. You can hear
the sound of shattered glasses, the piercing sound
of struck steel, and the cries of the innocent.
It makes you think, it brings you fear
that now you no longer want
this artifact in your hands.
This is problematic since you’re now
at a crossroads and you haven’t a clue
where to go.
As your body stiffens and your hands quiver
you close your eyes and realize the truth.
The truth is that not all are destined
to clutch this weapon, and all there’s left
for you to do is reload, aim, and fire.
Do you run and continue this
exhilarating game? Or do you
see to it that this gun never
be laid eyes on again? The choice
is yours, but you already know the answer.
Note: The first stanza is by Kim, and the rest is written by me with bits and pieces from her original poem.