Safety

My brother shows methe iron sights. The dark Oof the muzzle. The grip.Describes the caliber,the diameter of the holesthey hollow, how the copperjackets bloom. Pressesits weight to my palm, saysthey make the real thingin runs of a hundredthousand. Ideal, he says.Light, and cheap. He layshis hands on mine, steersthe open mouth towardhis window, the neighbor'splace beyond it, thentoward the bedroom whereour mother is sleeping.I want to keep us safe,he says. I ask whathe means. Cricketsstring out their thin musicbetween the duplexes and brick-front ranchesof our block. A late rainslicks the patched-over street. Our motionlight flickers on, and the blacktop shines.