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Thursday, December 28, 2023

Gun, Sonnet #620

A half-dressed man once pointed his gun

At me from an upper floor window

In the street: “Hey, kid, want some fun!”

He laughed. For a moment I didn’t know

Who I was — not until he disappeared.

Nothing had happened, something feared,

Because the child’s world I knew

Had never been so wrenched askew. 

Even so, I ran home, my lungs bursting,

Shouting with joy — no, then cursing,

Crying, tears stinging, feeling shame

For which I’ve never found a name.

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