Circumlocutory Praise


“Dost thou answer to my kiss?”—Francis Bret Harte

Fifteen minutes into the New Year
The shotgun shell came whumping down
Taking out the back windshield:
A fractal shatter pattern.

Somewhere unaware a man stands
Beer and shotgun in his two hands
Laughing with some friends.

Thirteen minutes into the New Year
David and I stood behind the car
And watched our neighbor’s fireworks
Spin and sparkle
And the remnants of the rocket
Fall, smoking slightly, to the ground
And we moved to get a closer look.

Truth hits hard like a blow to the gullet:
God saw fit to have us dodge the bullet.

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Because Russ L asked

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