Left Handed Gun

He stood in the street in the heat of the afternoon,
Nobody knew what to expect
From the left handed gun,
Until he whipped it out and fired.
The bullet now roused from its
Kinesthetic rest,
Traveled through the six inch barrel,
The quarter right hand-turn of the riflings
Giving it spin to insure its trajectory
And the hitting of its mark,
A spiral trail of gunsmoke followed the bullet’s head
That swam in slow motion like a tadpole going upstream.

Down the street another gunner stood
With his back to the sun,
He felt the bow-shock of the bullet
As it whizzed by his head.
He slowly raised his pistol
And stroked the barrel,
Caressing it with his fingers,
Blowing the smoke off the end,
Until it went limp in his hand
And he put it back in its holster.