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Russian Roulette
Buzz Fisher
The gun was loaded
and so was Bill.
The gun with bullets
and the boy with pills.
Confused and alone -
his whole world gone to shit.
So much in this world
that he would never get.
Bill didn’t know
why he started to cry.
He shouldn’t be sad -
he wanted to die.
Time passed slowly...
he could hear the clock tick.
He finally pulled the trigger
and heard only a click.
Four chambers empty -
a 50/50 chance remained.
“This will teach them
to call me insane.”
It had taken all day
and into the night.
Then suddenly,
the flash of light.
Red and blue
bouncing off the wall.
Over a bullhorn
he heard a policeman call.
“Put down the gun -
don’t be a fool.
We know what happened
today in school.”
At school, he thought -
what a long time ago.
Remember what happened?
Could they possibly know?
Bill had killed that teacher...
he couldn’t remember how.
Probably shot her...
it didn’t matter now.
He closed his eyes
and started to shake.
How much more
could he possibly take?
He was a gambler -
always had been.
Never had better odds -
at least, he couldn’t recall when.
Put the gun to his head
and again he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed -
his troubles would get no bigger.
The policemen stood
outside in the rain
while in his home,
Bill had eased his pain.
The cops dropped their heads,
trying to conceal their tears.
Thoughts of their kids -
unspoken fears.
If it could happen to Bill
why not their own?
Where can they turn
when they feel all alone?
When drugs are the answer
to the questions of life,
when decisions are made
by a roll of the dice?
Society dictated
Bill’s decline -
no more deserving
than your kid...or mine.
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