BB Gun

The war ended in 1945’s summer.

We piled into the back of pickup and sped to town.

We banged on garbage can lids.

I felt a sting above my eye.

I looked down and picked a BB off the wooden floor.

I told my parents, uncle and grandmother what happened.

They didn’t believe me, even when I showed them the tiny copper BB.

The war was over, an uncle would come home and more food was on the way.

A nearly lost eye – how important could that be?

Some were marching around, out of the pickup, still banging garbage can lids.

Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late September 2013

Author: Gene Novogrodsky

Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, a Brownsville resident for nearly three decades, writes North American border slices, from eastern Canada to central Mexico, and in between. He is one of the founders of the Narciso Martinez Cultural Arts Center Writers Forum in San Benito. He sometimes participates with the informal Resaca Writers Group in Brownsville. He prefers, however, to read to two or three attentive listeners – when asked!


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