ENOUGH LEAD TO CAUSE MEYHEM

This poem is a meditation on being handed a key ring decorated with a bullet and all that such an act conjures up. I've been vegetarian for nearly fifty years. I chose not to participate in the slaughter of other life forms. I live in a country where, thankfully, it is illegal to carry a firearm. 

THE PRICE OF ADMISSION

It is hardly surprising

I have a bullet in my hand.

This is America after all.

It lies uneasily in my palm,

a combination of a brass cylinder,

and enough led to cause mayhem,

but it will never participate

in a lethal, kinetic ballet.

Impotent, inert, chained to a ring

whose key opens a door

onto a room carpeted

with the skins of cows.

The poem is a kaleidoscope of feelings. It charts a visit I once made to Portland in Oregon. It is a piece of reportage.  

Here's my favourite Portland band singing one of their best songs. The Decemberists.

Until next time.