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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 09-June 18:44:41 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 4177
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Little Vestige
[time] => 2002-09-23 19:40:00
[hometext] => This is an actual event poem. My Dad took me shooting from the time I was 6, until I was a teenager, and grew my own wings.
[bodytext] => The rubber of the tires
picked up the dust in little puffs left behind. I sat looking out the window wide eyed, expectant, excited my brothers, asleep in the back uncaring, unconcerned, calm the bumpy dirt road, no bother sleep more important at sunrise we drove on, my mind filling tales of adventure, always heroic whence finally we stopped I stepped out, a little afraid my siblings rubbing their eyes coming awake, at last we all ambled to the spot surrounded by the sage brush a little fence, rolling in shambles the only marker in sight out of the cloth case, shining the object of the moment his hands, carefully, almost lovingly opening the chamber wide a red shell, as big as mans finger loaded gently, making a thunk put to his shoulder, leaning pulling the trigger, deafening I, jumping out of my skin three of us crying out and, now it coming to me heavy, bulky, I surprised him helping me, positioning this thing coaching me, coaxing me looking down the barrel, at nothing my finger squeezing, harder, harder I find myself against a post dazed, hard-of-hearing, frightened him laughing, picking me up saying "you'll grow in to the gun, son" but, I never did....... [comments] => 1 [counter] => 207 [topic] => 21 [informant] => butch [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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