Shoot

He talked.
not about flowers or the enchanting
snow falling on perilous mountain
slopes.

About the
sting of excitement as the bullet left
his gun, poised in numb anticipation,
serene.

He saw
the fall, gutted remains tangled in the
mangled screams of a startled family,
descend.

I asked,
if he felt the hit; life hesitantly escape,
unceremonious from target’s stomach,
spill.

He laughed,
parable of a soldier’s duty, wrapped
cozy in trained reflexes, structured to
kill.