Bullet --- Image by © 2/Steven Taylor/Ocean/Corbis

Image by © 2/Steven Taylor/Ocean/Corbis

I remember this one time.
I must have been about nine.
I was left to grow out my own vine.
I found some bullets of a lethal kind.
I’m not really sure just why,
But I took them outside.
Set them down and found
The biggest rock I could find.
Held it above my head and let it fly.
Smash a bullet, I will try…….

Nothing happened.

I remember a trickle of fear.
But excitement more near.
I picked up that rock
And gave it all I got.
This time for sure,
My aim is so pure…


Third time’s a charm.
I wind milled my arm.
Through the air the rock sang
And it was then…. BANG!
I had finally found my mark.
The lead ricocheted off with a spark.
I smiled in satisfaction.
Then covered the tracks of my actions.

© Christopher Allen Breidinger

Excerpt from the book “Poet Christopher’s
Scenes, Dreams, and Golden Schemes”

• Also available on Amazon.com by Title
Photo Credit: © 2/Steven Taylor/Ocean/Corbis

Categories: author

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1 reply

  1. Seems like a scary experiment but the story unfolded well.


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