I walk in to a gun shop
The clerk greats me nicely with a smile
I say
'I'm in the business of getting a new hand gun my good sir.'
He hands me a beauty,
Silver gloss, it glistened
I asked what bullets it shot
I was handed 45's
I took one out and popped open the cylinder
'You cant do that in here.' said the nice clerk
'Its okay I'm gunna buy it.' as I popped in a bullet
closed the cylinder, took the safety off,
turned it to my face as if to inspect the barrel.
I pulled the trigger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem