Poem: ‘Late Night at the Lege’

Well past prime news time, final reports filed,
the press pool near empty, most writers gone
to bars or bedrooms, clever constructionists
slipped guns for everyone bills through chambers
onto the governor’s desk for signing.
Weapons makers slapped palms with still stumbling
N R A leaders, politicians polished
worn explanations for midday release
while citizens shivered at the prospect:
Big iron on the hips of unstable uncles,
pistols in pockets and purses at the mall.