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I dreamed I bought a gun. At a Rite-Aid.
It was heavy, brightly colored, a girl-gun.
Then I ran into my Republican friend,
who was wearing fedora and pimp suit.
I told him I had a gun, hoped it showed
we shared common ground. I asked if
he’d help me take the bullets out,
loaded guns scared me. We went to
his man cave, classic jazz on vinyl.
My child asked, “Why are we here?
This looks like a man cave.” I praised her
for being so perceptive. The base color
of the gun was bubblegum. An impulse
purchase, this gun, at the counter where
candy forms a flank against health.
It sat in my purse like a used tampon
wrapped in t.p. The mouth of my purse
seemed to grimace Make my day.
Copyright 2022 Ellen McGrath Smith
Ellen McGrath Smith is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Pittsburgh. Her books include Nobody’s Jackknife (West End, 2016).