Pin Drop

The metal feels cold against the inside of my knuckles.
I feel like I am in control here, although I shake dreadfully as I lift my cannon.
I can imagine the fear in anybody's eyes as they face this,
as they look
d
o
w
n
the barrel of a gun.
My gun.
I drop it to my side once more and I think my job is finished, but things have only been delayed further.
And all I want to do is release this pressure.
A quick
spark
bang
and a cartridge falling to the floor;
as inaudible as a pin drop beneath the blast.
There's a slight motion beside me and I raise my revolver once more.
I close my eyes and pull the hammer back.
Click.
The spring is locked in place and I begin to count down in my head.
Three.
I can feel the power in my hand.
Two.
My index finger wraps around the trigger.
One.
I feel the release. The pressure explodes
behind the bullet that flies
out of the cylinder and
into the barrel and
out of the barrel and
out of the muzzle flash and
into the sky.
The blue, blue sky.
And the runners are off.

Reviews

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LOL! This was fantastic. You had me going the entire way through the poem...coming to the end, and it is the starters gun at a race. Awesome. The title, the arrangement of the lines and words composed in your poem, the layout, the suspense, all worked together to deliver the ultimate punchline at the end. I'm still laughing at the irony of it. Brilliantly done.