Gunshots

You’re certain you’re safe.
Just target practice
In the woods ahead

Of open season,
But in this country
Of concealed carry,

You track the echoes
From cliffs nonetheless.
Two years back this month,

A local lost it
With a long rifle,
Took two hostages,

And shot himself
As police closed in.
It could have been worse,

Everyone remarked
At the town party
That year’s Halloween,

As if that could mean
Comfort by hinting
Massacre still hung

In the atmosphere,
Possibility,
Possibility,

Knowing from the news
That elsewhere it was
A reality.

That’s comparison. Find
The distribution’s
Ends and measure back.

More shots. A shotgun,
From the sounds of it.
Who warms up for deer

And elk with shotguns?
Still on the other
Side of the mountain.