Sure, I Remember Guns
People needed guns to feel worthy of their clothes. People needed guns to finish sentences with integrity. They liked to fondle their guns, warm the barrels in their hands. Liked to rack them up on their walls. Take family pictures with them. Polish them up, Sundays, and rotate them in lit cases. Liked to sing songs about guns to their guns. Credit cards maxed thanks only to guns. Buy One of Every Gun was one game. Didn’t want to sully the guns shooting anybody. Hunters pitched rocks at ducks, ducks got riled, chased hunters back to their trucks. Aficionados armed to the nines robbed by kids with pocketknives. Archery sprees left no non-survivors, not even the one who tried to arrow himself at the end. Think of the arm-span, the musculature, the willpower it would take to arrow your own heart. Nobody faulted the bowman for failing—one woman even fell for him via post—but people were all rooting for each other back then is the difference. My whole generation gropes frantically under pillows in half- sleep. We wake with a start then remember when we are.