SMOKING GUN

If it weren't for this gun
Smoking in my hand
I'd be a dead man

Just after ten, Sunday night
Kids are all in bed
Was just talking to my wife
She's in Chicago

He stepped out of the shadows
Pushed a knife into my back
Thought about the sleeping kids
I shoved away the blackness
Trying to take me

He walked into the office
I could hear him at the desk
I was crawling back up the stairs
Couldn't catch my breath
But was determined

I made it to the nightstand
Got my hands on my gun
I heard him cuss my absence
Hit the stairs at a run
I was shaking

Made it to my feet
And aimed for the door
He drew back to throw the knife
Shot my gun, he hit the floor

I tried to breathe

If it weren't for this gun
Smoking in my hand
I'd be a dead man

This story's for anyone 
Who tries to take my gun
Imagine your children
At the mercy of this thug
No,  really see it

No rules, in his evil mind
To interrupt his plans
The only thing that stopped him
Was this gun in my hand
And you can't have it 

If it weren't for this gun
Smoking in my hand
I'd be a dead man

Teresa Lynn Johnson

Wrdspnr@aol.com

Copyright© 2015