At first I thought, guns are designed to kill,
killing being their essential purpose,
twitchy triggers and bored barrels anxious
to thrust their loaded charges at something.
If they merely wound, then they fail the task,
albeit at hands a bit too shaky.
That's when those hands and my eye connected.
I saw, so are we — designed for killing:
bipedal stance a leg up on hunting,
with our oft-deadly knack for tool making.
These arms in blood-lusting grip, we follow
where our frothy appetites take us,
but sometimes those trails only lead us back
to ourselves, another kind of preying.