young boy with pellet gun
aiming at anything moving
a tree swallow fluttering near its
nest hole far up the birch tree
an innocent pulling of trigger
a dead-on kill
and then the swallow’s mate
out the nest hole and
shrieking her mourning
across the thinned air
flustered and uncertain
the boy carefully aims and
shoots again putting down
the mate
trudging home feeling life moving
backwards like lost footsteps
hoarding the shame of his
accumulated future all
at once.
Comments 3
Yes, to the shame of it! This tugs at the heartstrings, as it should… even expressing the nuances and depth of the reaches of cause and effect… excellent poem! Thank you for writing it, Mark!
I love this poem, hell of a trigger play like a toy. Hope the shame will expiate the sin that is done innocently. What i think is those guns should not be allowed to the kids in the american world. Let peace prevail in the heart with apology.
Eventually peace will come out on top, m’friend. Gotta keep on believin’!