Compact in the hand, sights like an arrow
through the eye. The radio announcer
just rambles on about the traffic and how
the shitty block party with bad food
at the end of the week will somehow make
up for all the wasted hours.
She waits by the stairs nodding her head
with the music in her headphones.
Her shoes have holes in the front of them,
and her coat is from someone
who left it hung up on a lamp post.
There are houses with huge porches
on either side of them
where old men smoke cigarettes.
Behind the industrial park
there is a field and they arrive there.
They don’t even try to tell her anything,
and they give her the gun,
and in seven shots her hands
are finally shaking.
Their is something fundamental slowly
breaking at the weak points
where there isn’t any armor.
What kind of barrier could keep out
all the brave?

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