High Noon

he’s gunning
for anything that reminds him
of where he came from. 
let one word escape your lips
that feels familiar and he’ll
begin. the first stone is his altar
and the sound
of your own windows breaking
is his favorite hymn. 
your angry response
will be his excuse to feel
superior as he shows off something
he picked up along his way here,
twirling it in his hand.  he’s
threatening you, then himself,
depending on which way the barrel’s
facing at any given moment.  who will fall
when the trigger’s pulled is anyone’s guess,
but assume the worst happens —

who do you see on the ground?