when i shot that bb gun
my friend nick was holding my hand steady
in the backyards of wichita kansas.
there was a dry heat,
though i would go down secret passages
behind the subdivisions
and find them,
those dry brittle tan tallgrasses.
we would shoot at targets
-cans, action figures and stuff.
eventually two years later
i would smoke weed in his basement
and absorb myself on the carpets of his bedroom
listening to the doors and we'd blare hendrix
in his dad's mercedes coup,
parked in the garage.
"yesterday i shot a bluebird
its wings flap-flapping onto the
ground" he said
while we were out back
shooting bb guns.
'oh'- i thought
---that creeping shade of death
moving ever so slightly
towards the boundries of the wichita
-the queasy thrill of hearing about that bluebird
a sacrifice to lutheran middle school curiosity.
i thought about a blue wing flapping crazily on the dirt
maybe a squawk--
a dying trophy in a dusty backyard,
something to think about
while i wondered through the Big Lots stores and Krispy Kreme outlets.