He Wanted a Gun
He wanted a gun that
was capable of shooting the Sun.
Something that could pump lead into this
massive star’s molten surface with enough
velocity that the steel-cased bullet
wouldn’t dissolve before it
did the desired damage.
Oh yea…
and it couldn’t kick too much;
had to be portable,
and short enough to fit on his
pickup truck’s gun rack.

He wanted a gun that could
field dress a ten point buck with
only one blazing shot.
Something of enough caliber
that it could vaporize guts and
automatically mount the head over a fireplace.

He wanted a gun with big bullets.
I mean really big bullets.
But not so big that you couldn’t get
at least a couple hundred in the magazine
without them getting claustrophobic.
Not that this was a bad thing
‘cause bullets, like sperm,
should always be rearing to go.
Git. Skedaddle.

A gun whereby each and
every bullet leaving the barrel
would progressively get bigger.

Caliber to infinity,
if you get my meaning.

But he wanted this gun to be
small enough to
conceal beneath his clothes,
yet not so compact that you
couldn’t tell it was there.
A gun that you could
shove in your pants and…
well…
you know where I’m going with this.
I mean, there’s unsightly bulges,
and then that which are
aesthetically pleasing.
He?
He wanted a sexy gun.

Strange how none of the packaging
that guns came in
stepped right out and
stated that.
That is, unless I’m
missing something.

What he truly wanted was
a gun that would make him attractive
to the opposite sex, but…
but what’s eerie here is that
men with guns
really only seem to appeal to
other men with guns.

Latent homoerotic big bored barrel fetish?
What is up with that?!

Enough!
Enough about him and what
HE wants.
Dude’s obviously got issues.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that,
if I took my gun out
right now
and slammed it down on that table
just there,
not one man
would want to look at it.
Not one man would get up,
cross the room and
take it in his hand.

And dang if this ain’t a nice gun.
Damn fine tooling.

Oh, nothing big mind you.
Although well used,
it’s still got its chrome.
Meticulously well oiled
and comes
completely.
Equipped, I should add.

Of course,
in this one rare instance,
a few women would
actually take notice.
A murmur would go through the audience.
A debate would arise.
“Just what type pistola is that?”

Indeed, though
you may have encountered this
exact same model,
some may have a hard time recalling
the particular gun’s name.

But don’t give up.
Keep trying.

Trust me.

It’s right there on the tip of your tongue.

©06 Jack Hubbell