My father’s handgun was a Walther PPK.
Good guy that I am, after his death
I took it down to the local station.
Its weight felt oddly reassuring in my hand
but it was no use to me.
I never found the ammunition.
October 31, 2020
My father’s handgun
By hjs
This entry was posted on Saturday, October 31st, 2020 at 3:00 pm and posted in Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
One response to “My father’s handgun”
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
-
Poems
- Carrying Jack
- Tourists
- My Acceptance Speech
- A Balance
- My father’s handgun
- Map reading at 60
- My Covid-19 Song
- Jack at sixteen
- New Year’s Day
- Llanthony
- Patrishow
- Sunday morning at the canal
- Lunatics
- Too late
- The Master of Sleep
- Writing
- Late January
- Snow on the sidewalk
- Cat. Field. Morning. Midday. Dusk
- Migration
- Triumphs of Design
- Monteraponi
- Infinity Pool
- Old dog, dreamhunting
- Thaw
- Operating instructions
- Chickentime
- Recipe for happiness
- On Washington Crossing the Delaware
- Ellis Island
- Walking on Thin Air
- John Brown in the Met
- Wheelchair access
- New York Scenes
- Party
- Salisbury Cathedral
- A lesson from the DSLR workshop
- Too steep
- Footwear
- Paper thin
- Newfoundland I
- Newfoundland II
- El Horcajo
- Cotswold Graveyard
- Uisge
- Grizzly bears and other surprises
- The View
- In the Still of the Night
- November Recipe
- Yellowstone
- Transcendence in the RV Park
- Burqa
- Subversive dictionary
- Prague awakening
- Love story, Midwest
- Birds of the early morning
- The Undoing of Flight
- History (i)
- In-between
- Birthday
- The Fierceness of Badgers
- Polar explorations
- The bathroom Schwanen, Bernau
- Cutty Sark
- the room
- Imaginary photo album #2
Categories
Archives
October 31st, 2020 at 5:21 pm
Yeah, good guy indeed, harrumph. The ‘oddly’ further leads us astray, then bang!