HOLD FAST TO
THIS, LITTLE MAN
(the gun show)
Insoluble problems at the drop of a hat, the
fog and sleet which never disappears; yes, I
know all these things. Yet, I sit back : just
bluing the barrel of my gun, an old, long-stock
Remington I bought from the trunk of someone's
car. Few questions were asked, and true questions
never are. The seller had an acne'd face, and he
stuttered while I listened. Between all those words,
I sensed a fearful angst, a parlance about things and
from things. He was but a toy from some Hershey
factory making chocolate soldiers, all twisted and
melted up. I did know the grimace well. Now, I'm
just a warrior on another field, conscripted by my
country to die, or cause death trying.
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