Man At the Pharmacy

The man at the pharmacy counter and I are
picking up our prescriptions.

He notices the names on my slips.

He pulls me aside on the way out the door
and says,

“What does a gun barrel
taste like? Are you suicidal if
you can simply imagine
it? Even if you don’t own a gun? if
you know you’d more likely use
a knife or a rope? if you haven’t
so far and you’re in your thirties?”

I tell him
I wouldn’t know anything
about that. He nods
and waits for me to go

to my car. In the rear view mirror
I see him sit down on the curb
and run his fingers through his hair.

I will drive away, I tell myself,
and I do. I stop looking
in the mirror once I’ve pulled out,
stop thinking about it
until I get home and write this poem.

If you lick the end of a pen
it’s almost the same
is what I should have said.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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