Ptsd
He took down his gun today,
a telescopic rifle made for hunting.
From high atop the rise the people down below
appear so close and focused through the 'scope.
He spends all day breaking down the gun
and re-assembling it,
polishing each part until it gleams.
He fits the telescope,
lifts the weapon to his shoulder for just another look.
He'll bide his time...
The time has come, his palms are moist.
In the cross-hairs there are children,
lots of children dressed in Santa suits.
Where are the men with rifles on their backs?
...the men he was expecting?
A half-hour passes. He slowly lowers the rifle
and puts it back into its case.
Another half-hour passes
and he stumbles down the stairwell
to the street, his mind confused and torn.
Crossing a bridge he stops
to hurl the case into the river.
He wanders slowly home
to his studio apartment,
his haven of forgetfulness,
his pressed and perfect Ranger uniform,
and wonders why he just cannot stop crying.
He took down his gun today...
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