Gotten Old

The first cool gray evening
since summer’s longest sun.

Distant gunshots ring out the day
or in the night.

I’ve given up believing
those small explosions are leftover fireworks.

I wonder what disagreement
sparked this disturbance.

Maybe his girlfriend unbraided her hair
in front of the wrong man.

Foolish of me to assume a man
wields the popping gun.

But women prefer knives.
Or poison. Right?

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney