The Moment

Go ahead.
Take your time.
You’ve known it was coming to this.
You knew it was inevitable,

and you’ve laid in wait,
your gun armed,
ready,
pointed

Not quite aimed,
but perfectly prepared,
knowing, even in the quiet of the night
that one day

there would be no more waiting,
that one last thing would send you
to the place where imagining lives no more
and you’d pull the trigger.

About this poem

The picture was taken in an upstairs room of my house. The two guns belonged to my grandfathers, one from each of them.  They were each left to me when they died. But don’t worry. No lives, human or otherwise, were ended in the writing of this poem.

Tom