Weapon of choice
He claimed it was his legal right,
Protection his ultimate need,
From varmints that came out at night,
And thieves with an unhealthy greed.
“I’ll lock it up and hide the key,”
He told his mothering spouse.
“The bullets and the gun will be
On opposite ends of the house.”
“That hardly does you any good,”
She made her point quite clear.
“If you must protect this brood
You’ll need to have it near.”
Jimmy was a most curious lad;
At dinner used his mouth to eat
While listening to his mom and dad,
Chewed thoughts as well as meat.
In the field out back the grass was high
And the crows flew overhead;
Raising rifles they aimed for the sky,
Jimmy and his best friend, Fred.
It didn’t seem to them that morning
That anything bad could take place.
The weapons they’d borrowed were marked with no warning
Of the tragedy the small town would face.
Little did he know that what goes up,
Earth’s laws dictate must come down.
He fired and gave a command to his pup
To go fetch a bird on the ground.
Poor little Fred never knew what hit;
The bullet went straight to his brain.
He was dead in less than a minute.
It wasn’t a bird that was slain.
The little dog barked and jumped on Fred,
As Jimmy plowed through the weeds.
One small eight year old boy was dead,
But both of the children would bleed.
In a small town, word travels quick
And stigma becomes who you are:
The boy that shot little Fred Schmidt
Would never go very far.
Both were students their teachers had thought
Had the promise of men who’d be great,
But who could predict what the future brought
That would be Fred and Jimmy’s fate.
Fred in a grave when just a small boy
And Jimmy who never forgot
The day he discovered what he thought was a toy
Ended two vital lives with one shot.
.
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