THINGS I'D SAY TO MY DAD ABOUT THE GUN
I don't know if I said a damn word when he came into the house to get the gun, or when he left the house with it. I doubt I could have. But there's quite a bit I'd like to say now that it's all said and done.
Nothing I'd say to the man if showed up before me, alive once more with a gun in his hand. Let's not get carried away here. I'd keep my mouth zipped up tight. Yes, dad. Yes, sir. Right this way, sir. Past me and out of my life.
P.S.: I wrote an Octet about this, too. Have a feeling I'll be writing about this moment until I stop writing altogether and become a sculptor, which I fantasize about all the time. Just to get away from words, work with some new materials. But I'll probably make sculptures about it, too.
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