[M] Whirda's Poetry & Prose

[PepsiWhirda]

Squeeze the Bullet Down

Squeeze the bullet down.

Put it deep in your throat,
close your eyes and swallow
hard. Don’t let that
trickster’s synapse fire.

Squeeze the bullet down,
down to the bottom of the bin
where old vegetable scraps
turn to compost. Smash it
to needles and find yourself a
haystack, in an unused barn on an
unused farm, one where the cows
have been permanently put
out to pasture.

Squeeze the bullet down.

Taste it, and find that it
tastes of the middle ground
between whispered hellos
and shouted goodbyes.
Maybe it tastes a bit like
that summer when you and she
and all your friends
found love, and maybe
for some of them
it would last forever,
but not for you.

Squeeze the bullet down,
because if the bullet
is allowed to fire, it’s
going to do the sort of damage,
that no amount of scalpels
and morphine can repair. All
the steady doctor hands and steady
doctor frowns won’t keep her
out of triage for long.

Squeeze the bullet down.

Hide it behind teeth and lips
that smile like they aren’t
suppressing an arsenal.
Like they aren’t
superheroes. Squeeze it down,
because it is not of you.
It’s another sort of person
that shoots first,
and asks questions later.