Empty Guns

Remington 1858 Revolvers by Simjoy

With shaking hands I step
to the middle of this dusty street,
careful to place the setting sun
at my back. I’ve mere thirty minutes
to draw and fire into
my slender foe.

And my aim has been less than true
these days, scattering pistol shots
through windows, writing jagged initials
in a tree, or skimming 100 shots
across the river, aiming at cans
and hitting cannots.

See, it’s really a lamp glaring
over my shoulder, and my foe
looks just like me, hunched over
a keyboard with nothing to say,
a writer in a daily showdown
with empty guns.


One thought on “Empty Guns

  1. Joseph, I love your way with words. Even though you write about specific issues and experiences, your words are universal. It seems like lately most everything I attempt to do, I come up short on enthusiasm. And I can’t blame it on the long winter because I’m in southern Florida. Could it be a natural part of aging? I especially like your “aiming at cans and hitting cannots.”

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