Brown Brown
Huddled out of sight.
in a corner. in a soundless state.
with confusion and want,
my gaze falls to my tiny lap
to this eager little kill-trumpet
outgoing in its' rat-tat-tat nature
a defiant, quaint little toy
unapproachable.
coaxing.
Danger or no danger,
job or no job,
these fingers are little.
I strain. the Brown Brown runs its' course.
the trigger resists;
perhaps it's a sign
is this a sign
can I stop now, i'm not fit.
i'll take some more Brown Brown please sir
but I am not fit.
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