The trigger feels inviting

doesn’t it?

The parade passes your house,

and I get it, you’re afraid,

something inside you

that has always been there

hiding,

concealing itself under the thin mask

of respectability, cruelty, and hate

denied,

loathing and malice

rebuffed,

accusations of temper tantrums

rejected,

as you point your gun at the crowd

because you feel afraid…

…or is it real, this feeling of power

you imagine you had as you squeeze

the trigger harder, to the point of release,

stare down the barrel as they do

in the cop shows you love,

where they die, you know who,

all who challenge your pitiless, ugly hate,

as you raise your voice,

as you raise your hand,

as you praise your God,

and think of the sex you miss,

as the recoil from your finger

gives way, shouldering the gun

in the Missouri Rain.

Ian D. Hall 2020