Thursday, April 24, 2014

5289. NOT MY FAVORITE RIFLE

NOT MY FAVORITE RIFLE
Once when it was small-game season in Pennsylvania
a group of guys were shooting squirrels and rabbits.
They just went at it with glee and happiness, as if
it was the most natural thing in the world. I had to 
stand back  -  I was the outsider there, a newcomer 
with, really, little sense of place. 'My Daddy taught
me this when I was ten.' Someone said that to me
as they were nailing pheasant carcasses to the side 
of their barn  -  something about both 'trophy value'
for others to see and a drying process for feathers.
Another time I watched, they shot squirrels at will,
and then just left them  -  to die, if they weren't
dead already, and some weren't. I was aghast.
These boys were men in their minds but kids in
their fractured little mental cases  -  want to run
and want to shoot. Let's find any excuse to do it.

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