Shotgun Poem by Jefferson Carter

Shotgun

SHOTGUN


The last time I felt good?

Taking out the garbage, 

I wobbled against our car,
bumping its side view mirror,
which sagged, sounding
like a broken wind chime.
When I asked the service rep

how much to fix it, with a
straight face, he replied $650.
I bet he'd never before had
an elderly gentleman shout
"Are you fuckin' nuts? "

& lay rubber as he vacated
the premises. I felt good! 


My hearing's gone,
my eyesight's going
as if my body wants to say
farewell before I'm ready.
Getting old's a bore. Hearing
or writing about it, even worse.
Ask Hemingway, who ate
his shotgun as if growing old
doesn't beat the alternative.
Sometimes I feel
like a Family Dollar store
in a dying strip mall.
But why dwell on it?

Oh, look! A roadrunner!

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troo story---sort of
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