WEBVTT

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Here's one called,
"The Blank Chamber".

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Safety off, a variation on
the screech owl, the lure

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can be a sound
never before heard.

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My uncle had lent me the pistol.

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We had discussed our trip to
California, plans for children.

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There was no moon, but it was
warm in the cholla by the wash.

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A pattering of rampant
feet fading away,

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then the guttural grunt.

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By reflex, the trigger
pull of instinct.

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It falls on a blank chamber.

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The javelina, blind
sense of preservation,

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charging, odor of musk.

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Before I could raise the
pistol again, deafening,

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the barks from nowhere, dog's
fangs turning both of us

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out of the path.

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Deafening, the imminence,
feeding another round

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into the revolving chambers.

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I don't really mean that
to be a close call poem.

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