Smoking Gun Poem by ERNEST CLARY

Our rule on any gun Was simple and yet retained the fun. Never shoot anything You aren't prepared to bring To the kitchen table And eat it if your able. Seemed such a simple rule Until a new rain gauge appeared On a fence post fairly near. A quick pop and there was, for all to see The single hole made by the BB. At the bottom of the plastic Was this fantastic Hole that drained the water Till none remained in short order. The rule was suspended that day And the gun was put away Only to be taken out When no rain gauges were about. s