The Blast Poem by Joseph Anthony Montefusco

I write this now
with the gun still hot
The barrel’s still smoking –
It was the night I got shot

The burning bullet buried deep
driven into my brain
Yet I remain standing –
Some things I can’t explain

Six people pulled their triggers
but only one held a bullet
It was purely accidental
She didn’t mean to pull it

After the blast there was nothing more
than apologies and tears
I writhed on the ground holding my head
and faced my biggest fear

I clung to life and patched the wound
though sometimes it still bleeds
But this life I hold is too precious to lose
And it’s the only thing I need.