they shot a guy at the end of my street

I was twelve years old the last time
I held a gun
I don’t know what I was shooting at
but I’m sure I missed
and the kick back from the rifle
left me so bruised
I never wanted to hold a gun again

There’s a gun in the house
in a safe, ‘cause that’s the law
and I know it hasn’t seen the light
of day in more years than I can remember
no one here hits the range anymore
and I’m not sure of the point of it
but it’s still there
out of sight, out of mind

The cops shot a guy at the end of my street
he died and was shipped back to New Zealand
and no matter how I look at it
I can’t help but feel he didn’t have to die

And if we’re being honest here
it hits too close to home
because that way things are
that could be my family
on the worst day of our lives
if things keep sliding downwards
and I could be the one left grieving
for someone that didn’t have to die
my distrust for the law
turning to fury and unimaginable pain
because someone thought to arm
people with guns they’ve been trained to kill with
rather than incapacitate

Cops carry Tasers for a reason
if only they’d learn to use them
instead of pulling a trigger out of fear
for their own lives
when last time I checked
they’re still toting
the “protect the people” line

I was twelve years old
the last time I held a gun

I’d hate for someone to die
staring down the barrel of one

© Indie Adams 2014