Everything’s a Gun Now

 

At the bar where he got shot

I was in the line of fire

 

The three year old

at the food store

holds a banana

like a pistol

 

“One Killed in Bar Brawl”

the headlines said

Can you be wounded and not shot,

I ask

 

people laugh in rapid fire

rat a tat tat

 

One man threatened

with a cue stick

the other

pushed a gun

into the soft of his belly

 

I’ve got the thousand yard stare until

the car with the broken muffler

sounded like a gun

 

He doubled over

after a mute report

 

a middle finger

can blow my head off

 

Face gone cardboard grey

 

It is writ holy

that

you’re a militia

of one

 

life ebbed into a blood puddle

 

The double barreled guy

on the radio

turns words to bullets

Eventually I’ll get what’s

coming to me, he says.

 

 

 

Speculations On A Lost Shoe

 

Three days running I’ve noticed

a woman’s sandal

set out on a picnic table

near the beach

waiting to be reclaimed

 

I imagine its owner

walking the shore

steadying herself

on her lover’s arm

after the last notes

of the blues fest

carried over the late summers waters

as she tucked her footwear

in her handbag

and let her painted toes

ooze sand between each

until that left one

tumbled out

and was cruelly taken by the lake

 

And later still

when she found it missing

she asked herself wistfully

“Is this the price of love?”

 


In his later years, Gary Beaumier has become something of a beachcomber and has self diagnosed himself with “compulsive walking disorder.” On a number of occasions he has cobbled together wooden sailboats.

He is a finalist and semi finalist for the Luminaire Award for several of his poem.

He has had three poems published in Flumes Winter 2017 and one poem in Third Wednesday as well as one poem in Chaleur Magazine and an upcoming recording in Lit_Tapes. He taught poetry in a women’s prison.

July 10, 2018

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