Return to
Table of

a poem by Norman Savage


We're always
the target.
There's always
somebody or something
taking aim.
It could be a sniper
not yet born,
or a virus
not yet mutated.
Better it be over
quickly, like a plane
landing in your coffee cup;
or your heart
exploding; or your brain
aneurysm imploding.
It could be a bullet
meant for someone else,
or a ricocheted shard
off the sidewalk
into your eye.
a schizophrenic
thought you were God
and pushed God,
the false God,
under the train?

But usually
the crosshairs
are looked through
by you.
You're the best
shot in the world.
You never miss.
You know where
your soft parts are.
You might do it quickly--
if you're lucky
--or do something
that bears fruit
six months later.

It does not much matter
the method or the means.
We're all good
and we should be:
we practice
all the time.

© by Norman Savage
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #30 ~ April 2014    return to top