by William Aarnes
poetry makes nothing happenpoetry is never really part of anythingIt can kill a man.It is difficultto get the news from poemsyet men die miserably every dayfor lackof what is found there.
Of course, there are other ways
to kill—a knee pressed down
on a neck; a quick, hard shove
off a subway platform; a swerve
onto a sidewalk; a brick
dropped from a roof; the slow,
sure work of something tasteless
stirred into a sauce; a knife
stuck through a partner’s heart...
—but guns are so easy to have
on hand they’ve help us fall
into the habit of reaching for them
to win lost arguments
or end marriages or conclude
our own lives by aimless firing
into crowds. Having guns around,
has moved us to elect whoever
will pass and keep in force
permissive laws meant to insure
we’ll need guns to defend each other
from gunfire.
So can someone
please post the poem everyone
(even readers who prefer
firing guns to reading)
will want to share with friends
because the poem’s so compelling
about how we need justices
who think laws must meet
standards suggested by the phrase
“well regulated militia”
and (in a brilliant burst
of well-targeted words)
about how it’s criminal
not to make crimes committed
with guns the responsibility
of not only the culprits but also
the weapons’ makers and dealers?
Please, someone, that poem.
Stop me from buying a gun.
William Aarnes lives in New York.
