Kalashnikov’s Dream
Tim Bacon
The caliber of my stanzas has won out
in the firefight with my reputation
as the patron saint of small arms fire.
My poems are memorized by school children
whose ancestors learned to fire my rifle
at recess and were pressed into battle
as soon as class was dismissed.
I mastered the muzzle velocity of words,
pierced stony hearts and slew vengeful minds,
set men’s sights on a peace that is more than
a pause to reload before the next war.
The final bullet from the last surviving AK47
has done what the laws of physics ruled it must
to whatever stood in its way,
the odor of burnt gunpowder no longer fouls the air,
the spent cartridge lies buried in the mournful earth.
My verse lives on, the world knows me now:
I am Kalashnikov, poet.
in the firefight with my reputation
as the patron saint of small arms fire.
My poems are memorized by school children
whose ancestors learned to fire my rifle
at recess and were pressed into battle
as soon as class was dismissed.
I mastered the muzzle velocity of words,
pierced stony hearts and slew vengeful minds,
set men’s sights on a peace that is more than
a pause to reload before the next war.
The final bullet from the last surviving AK47
has done what the laws of physics ruled it must
to whatever stood in its way,
the odor of burnt gunpowder no longer fouls the air,
the spent cartridge lies buried in the mournful earth.
My verse lives on, the world knows me now:
I am Kalashnikov, poet.
|
Tim Bacon lives in Santa Rosa, CA and recently retired as office manager for the Sonoma County Bicycle Coalition. He is an appreciative long time, though intermittent, participant in Clive Matson’s workshops and has been published in several Crazy Child Scribblers.
|
