Abram's Final Words

“It is the dark beauty of it,”
Abraham Trotman said,
Bringing his shotgun to his shoulder

Like a good friend or the young missy
He’d known years back.
“The beauty’s in the goddamn eyes of it,”

He whispered to the gun,
Stroking the barrel as he did
The missy’s thigh those bright days ago,

Lifting it to his protruding lips
Thinking maybe her lips weren’t so hard.
And thinking of the scent of her

Pulled the cold trigger
And sent his mind to dream of her
And his head to kingdom come.

© 2006 Terry Collett

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