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Gun Laws
If I had a gun
I’d paint it in gold
leaf and put it in a glass
box frame
and hang it on
the wall
with a sign that says:
in emergency
break the glass,
if I had a gun
it would be a baby
browning and
it would fit
in the pocket of my grey
sweatshirt. I would use it when
out for a run. There are lots
of rabbits where I run.
I would shoot two and take them
home. I would chop
off their heads, I would skin
and gut them. I would put
them in a pot,
with garlic, onions, red wine
and cream
and I would leave
them to cook into
a big rich boozy
stew to be eaten with
green beans and butter.
I would make the
children eat. I would point
my baby browning at them
to be sure they finish
everything on their
plates, licked clean,
if I had a gun
I’d use
it as a spoon
for my chickpea and roast
pumpkin salad.
the orange chickpeas would balance
on the end of the silvery
barrel like tiny
gymnasts and I would
eat them with
my finger pressed
on the trigger
if I had a gun
I would
use it as a pillow and hug
it to me
at three in the morning
when I wake
to the rattling
of the rubbish bins outside
the bedroom window.
it would be the neighbour’s dog.
I’d shoot it anyway
Catherine English completed the Whitireia Diploma in Creative Writing in 2014 and went on to enjoy the six-week Iowa Poetry Workshop over summer at the International Institute of Modern Letters. Her writing naturally falls into some sort of food-vat of sensory description, more vivid the hungrier she is. She endures a love affair with pomegranate salsa.