Scared

He was scared of guns. 

Scared of his own gun. 

He didn't keep it for self-defense.

His gun only held one bullet.

There'll be no one there for another. 

Last chance to get something right. 

What's the point or logic of a full clip? 

Scared of his thoughts, their tone. 

Maybe it's time to get on the phone? 

What would he say, anyway?

"I'm having a final kind of day. Calling you for a second opinion?"

He chuckled quietly in the dark,

gun back in the locked drawer 

where it's always been.

Tomorrow it starts all over again.