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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