Unfounded Peace

It was always there, nestled in a canvas pouch,
emitting a bouquet of Rem oil, his safety valve,
his piece. He liked to let his fingers linger
on it, as it dovetailed into his grip,

he loved the weight of it, the perfect balance
in his hand. With it, his anxieties faded,
he shifted from worried to confident.
It created an aura of comfort and calm.

He’d heard about the break-ins, the home
invasions, not far away. He was ready
for them and would keep his family safe.
Not that he had anything worth stealing,

but in this world, you never know.
He stored it under his bed, loaded
of course. If you really need it, you can’t
be fumbling with bullets in the dark.

It lay there for years on call, his insurance.
Every month he cleaned it, oiled it, put on
his NRA cap and practiced at the firing range.
Its presence always brought him peace of mind,

until that day the kids played hide and seek.

Robert Paul Allen lives on a lake near the coast of Maine. He is surrounded daily by the state’s rugged beauty. He worked in the medical field in patient care and has seen the gamut of human trials and tribulations. The human condition inspires much of his poetry. He has been a serious poet for the past five years and has published 31 poems. His first chapbook, Between the Panes has just been published. He believes he still has something to say. Read other articles by Robert Paul.