painted grey like
all the others in
the small country
town,
on a creaking
porch swing
a small boy in
wrinkled Sunday
clothes sits with
his whiskey breath
Grandpa who
never goes
to church,
but naps outside
instead
and listens to hymns
roll over new
green crops.
The boy hands
the man a shiny
silver pistol that
fires red paper rolls
of snapping
pop caps,
his favorite toy.
The man holds
a lit Winston cigarette
to the metal barrels tip.
as he hands it back.
"Shootin' all them bandits",
Grandpa says.
The boy
leans closer
and smiles,
and his Grandma
fastens her faded
apron and takes
chicken and dressing
from the oven
inside.
