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August 20, 2008  Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: The Craft   0 Comments


There was a certain sensual flow in the lines
The wood stock, the bolt? handles, even the barrel
I thought they would look evil somehow,
But obviously the manufacturers of many of them
Were concerned with a pleasing appearance

“Why are there so many,” I asked,  “why not just two?”
“It is that boy thing we talked about,” she said, smiling.
She smiled more, lately
It was nice

“I think we should pick two each,” I said.
“Did he say what we should do with them?” I ask.
“This cabinet he said to leave alone until.”
“Until what?”
“He didn’t say,” she said.
She points. “This cabinet has what he thought we would like.”
I unlock the cabinet. More pretty rifles, and several black ones
Those were not so pretty

“What about the rest?”
She shrugged
“Would he be mad, if we sold them?” I ask.
She thought for a while.
“No. Maybe he would think they should be used,” she said.
“Yes. I think so.”

“Who will teach us?” I ask.
“One of his friends, I think. Men, they like to teach guns.”
There was something in the way she said that
I give her my version of The Eye
“Is he married?”
She laughs
“Not anymore,” she admits.
“Does he have any kids?” I hold my breath.

Later at night I think about a black rifle
I picture myself shooting it
Looking down the… optic?
Then I wonder if I have a dress that goes with it
Black goes with a lot of things
Girl enough to know that one

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