W. D. Ehrhart  


    Sighting down the long black barrel,
I wait till front and rear sights
form a perfect line on his body,
then slowly squeeze the trigger.

The thought occurs
that I have never hunted anything in my whole life
except other men.

But I have learned by now
where such thoughts lead,
and soon pass on
to chow, and sleep,
and how much longer till I change my socks.
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    Copyright © 1975 by W. D. Ehrhart
A Generation of Peace, New Voices Publishing Company, 1975
This poem is currently published in Beautiful Wreckage, New & Selected Poems, Adastra Press, 1999
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