The minimum age, make it seventy

Give me Social Security


And my AR-15.


By then few of us will be bitter

Or even remember

What it was that happened when,


Problems at school, or on the bus

Always being part of them

And never part of us,

The surprise parties, surprise, no one threw

The relationships that never grew

The nerves, the drugs, the tease

All the failed efforts just to please,

The woulda been, coulda been, shoulda been


The crappy pay for nine to nine,

The wife who left

The girls who laughed

The race against no one

Where I finished last,


By seventy, you see

I’ll be at the shore, cheap cigar in hand

Forgetting it was you

Who broke up the band,

The waves will break

The same for you and me

And ain’t that the way

It’s supposed to be?

Yes, I’ll be ready

Ready at last

For my automatic weapon

With bullets so fast,

On the beach

With seven decades over my belt

Ready for inaction

To not avenge all that pain I thought I felt,



A damn good minimum age

For substituting self-defense

For simple human rage.


All Rights Reserved © Peter Brav 2018