Pistol grip clenches tight,
finger itchy, brows tensed,
all-black ballistic nylon rustles
through NVG-lit hallways,
one eye shut, the other searches
for targets: fat sack perps
etched with laser sights
waiting to be taken down
like pegs, hands behind heads
mouths bark commands,
don’t speak, bark, yap, howl
on the ground maggot!
or some such vermin,
hand signals tossed
liked gang signs behind
balaclavas & murder gloves—

When did men with guns
become the pinnacle of cool?
Did we miss the memo?
At some junction between Moses
& John Wayne we forged
ahead to a bottomless brunch
of pistols, rifles, & SMG’s.
The click of loaded magazine
the new aphrodisiac, Barry White
blaring over boomboxes
over air raid sirens & children
cowering under desks.
Boys gather sticks
not for kindling, but to kindle
their nascent cruelty.

Is anyone surprised anymore
by white men drawing weapons
like candy canes from holsters,
barrel rolling on grassy lawns,
doing their best impressions
of Iraqi war cries
while incredulous parents
gawk at the childish display?
When the hero carries
a glock, death will be the reward.
It’s all fun & games
until someone loses
a life.