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In a small cafe. . . .

Did I mention that I live in Arizona?

Yesterday we went to a small cafe for lunch.
We needed something to fight off starvation,
and to get out of the house.

A gentleman came in with a T-shirt that explained
that he was a patriot and that he was sorry we were spineless.
He had a leather packet on his belt, and from time-to-time
he cradled it in his hand and looked around the room.

I am not sure I have ever felt so . . . oh . . . I don't know . . . secure, I guess.

I think I am old-fashioned.
It makes me feel spineless
when I stand in line at the grocery check-out
behind the butt of somebody's handgun:
kind of jelly-boned weak in the knees;
unpatriotic.

I know that if something happens
I will be standing right next to a guy in a gunfight.

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