When We Were Kids
H. W. Bryce
When we were kids,
We played cowboys and outlaws.
We had cap guns
And we shot at each other,
Hiding, running, shooting!
“Gotcha. Yer dead!”
“No yuh didn’. Yuh missed by a mile.”
“Nah, I gotcha. You gotta fall down dead!”
Another kid to that kid, “Bang!
I gotcha. Teach yuh not tuh hide!”
And that kid’d shoot back and
Somebody else’d sneak up
And shoot us both,
So we all fell down and writhed
In the dirt
to the joyous sounds of
BANG! BANG! BANG! Bang!
“Gotcha. Yer dead, Yuh dirty rat!”
“Fall down yer dead!”
BANG BANG BANG!
Until our mothers called out:
“Supper!”
And we all holstered our guns
And ran home to roast beef and gravy
Without so much as a g’bye.
And we carried on like this
Till we became teenagers.
Then we went down to the rink
And played hockey.
Donnie played goal,
And I was on the wing.
— —
I don’t know. I was just thinking back to Ann and how ALZ might be thought of as having been shot in the head…to wouldn’t it be good if we could shoot that brain with some sort of super laser beam to heal that brain…to some kind of a shootout…to something like when we were kids…
And if we could bring mommy back…
So maybe we could grow out of our playing-with-guns obsession.
Like, Time To Grow Up!
Yes, guns kill. They are the instruments that carry out the act.
No, guns are not to blame. That is on the people who make the guns do the killing.
Ergo: Guns kill but they are only carrying out orders.
Ergo: People are killers.
Photo by rawpixel.com from Pexels
#alzheimer’s #dementia
Available from Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Chasing-Butterfly-H-W-B…/…/1460299345
Thank you.
