Russian Roulette

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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