The Gun That Owned Jimmy

Omavi Victorine

This is the gun

It’s not a big gun

Compact and silver

Fitted snugly into his palms

Power radiated from it

Manhood permeated

Jimmy felt like a true man

Floated on a cold steel high

A velocity rush

Jimmy derived strength

From the barrel of death

Pointed in the direction

Of another mother’s son

The small bulge of power

Nestled in the small of his back

The feel of cool metal

Any minute now it can be hot

Brought greatness to the boy

Who wished he was a man

A metal cylinder of horrors

His right hand man

Televised brainwashing

Created the gun and Jimmy

The combination of ignorance

And power

Festered in a twisted warped mind

The systematic lobotomy

Of effective parenting

Made this union strong

The curse of false strength

Excised any sense of

Right and wrong

A conceived coat of

Indestructible armor

Fueled by misplaced

Beliefs of invincibility

The power of this gun

In my calloused hands

I hold this gun

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