The Christmas after I turned 16
I looked down the barrel of a loaded .38
Smith & Wesson “Police Special” with rubber grips, a gun
I’d myself fired at targets many times, but this…
Facing off with my step-father, I was a human
(hopefully bulletproof) blockade against
a shaking and snakingly deranged trigger-finger
and behind it a set of empty eyes.
I do not know how I got out of that situation.
My taunts of “Go ahead, shoot me motherfucker!”
prompted by a vision of his head frying in an electric chair
may have helped appeal to even a monster’s sense
of unfairness – he was nearly twice my size in weight.
Some would call it a miracle, yet that sort of thinking
is what created this particular monster to begin with.