by Bill Glose
I practiced what to say while you stomped about the kitchen, slamming dishes and cabinets. Just like range practice, I focused on the target, took air slow as a turtle, emptied my heart. Practice doesn’t always make perfect. Punching holes downrange easy when the torso bisected by your front sight post isn’t breathing. Lines rehearsed without emotion seldom survive first contact. Paper targets don’t fire back.
Bill Glose is a former paratrooper, a Gulf War veteran, and author of the poetry collection, The Human Touch (San Francisco Bay Press, 2007). In 2011, he was named the Daily Press Poet Laureate. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals and magazines as Narrative Magazine, New York Quarterly, and Poet Lore.