Comanche Days

Years ago
The brace
Of burnt cordite
And the explosive
Combustion
Of my semi-auto
Was provocative.

All up and down
The firing line
Officers leaned into
The muzzle flash
Hoping
Never to need it
Hoping
Always to have it.

It shoved
Steel
Into my hand
Iron
Into my spine.

The kicker:
I hate guns.
But I craved knowledge
That come hell
I would stand
In the angry day.

The stinger:
I have experienced
The butterfly breeze
Savagely singing
Their Death Song
Very near my left ear.

The knowledge you may die
Makes life sweet.

These days
My weapon is secure
Its magazine sleeping
In a drawer I never open.

But I remember
The Comanche Days
The siren song
Of life
Sweet and rare.

I remember.