Behind the trembling barrel,
A revolver smile sometimes conceals
Crazed, hollow-point intentions.
Some have not been sighted-in,
Some recoil too sharply,
Or jam every third round.
But others you will find
Consistently point down
A three-inch group at fifty yards.
Until you know more,
Trust each one you see
Carries a full clip
Of live rounds:
One in the chamber,
Safety off,
And a sudden,
Heart-stopping,
Hair trigger.
Gary Witt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/people-are-like-guns/
