BELLEMEADE BOOKS

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JULY 17, 2011 4:38PM

"Gun play," a poem by M Bromberg

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goats 

 

 

 

Gun play

M Bromberg

 

 

 

I was feeling fat and stupid

in afternoon summer heat

Stevie and I

were just shooting the breeze


I went to change my shirt

and when I came back to the porch

the curtain was already up

on this little drama 


I'd walked in a little late on the first act

In the pasture one of the dogs 

had cornered a frightened goat 

and was iterally scaring it to death


Stevie was feeling froggy

at what had to be done

he went inside the house

and disappeared a moment


When he came out gun in hand

Stevie and his dad

went looking for the downed kid


I watched in afternoon light

as father and son 

walked in tall pasture grass 

After a few minutes I went upstairs

to splash some water on my face 

waiting 


 

 

 1Ellie-Mae&Vidaliaresized

 


 

 

There were two distant shots

When they came back from their work

Stevie told me Vidalia the youngest dog

had got in the pasture by accident


They buried the young kid

by the fenceline in shallow dirt


Ten minutes later

from the kitchen Stevie's father

delivered the country eulogy


"Please wash your hands before dinner, son,"

he said quietly

 

 

 

 

"Gun play" was written in Statham, GA on July 20, 2010 and originally appeared online at the Literary Kicks website (NYC). M Bromberg is working on a chapbook of original poems.

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Comments

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This is a little glimpse into a world that I know next-to-nothing about. I know that I would probably be considered way too sentimental about such things.

Very interesting stuff.
Thanks, Jeanette. I was visiting my friends and had taken the photos posted here just an hour before. Everything about the incident happened so calmly, in a way, that after dinner I doubted I had witnessed it. I wrote it down as a kind of play before I forgot the details...and when I read it a week later in front of a group of 100 people several people burst into tears at the end!
Living on farms, it is a necessary evil. Great Poem!
You're right, Scanner -- both my friend and his son knew exactly what they were doing and I doubt there was more than twenty words spoken.

Thanks for stopping by ...
A fine poem. This type of hard work is always better for no speaking.

Rated.
Hey, Scylla, welcome back! Thanks for the visit. Yes, the tacit understanding between the two of them was what gave the event such an understated force -- and then later when I mentioned I'd written a poem about it Steve's wife said, "Why?"