The Uselessness of Shotguns
			I have learned the uselessness of shotguns stowed in houses, loaded-- ready for use on call. My sixth grade school friend, Larry, one spring day came home at lessons end; as children do they played a game of cops and robbers--and since he was the oldest--wisest sibling, he took command of things. They ran round and round the house; the robbers led--once, twice. Silently, the good cop hid-- waiting. Surprised, the robbers slowed their race with time-- bewildered. No cop in sight, they took pause-- they laughed. The game was won--evil triumphed for once. The quarry eluded the righteous cop today!    The bad guys sprawled on the front lawn laughing-- celebrating--valiant. Evil defeats goodness!			But then-- at the highest moment of mirth the cop burst through the door behind hapless victims, blasting real shots from his loaded 410-- firing two blazing rounds at suddenly helpless victims, writhing now in pain--blood flowing from wounds--screams knifing spring air--two bodies smashing new green tulips in dark, rich garden dirt. The red eyed ambulance pulsing like their death wounds-- shrieking, sped away, but already the breath of life had faded-- little--nothing-- hen death. Oh, I learned late one spring day that life, like a fragile candle can be snuffed out in moments.
				John Daleiden November 30, 2004
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