Gina's got a gun

i asked my new
girlfriend
gina for a stick
of gum the other
day, and she said
well la de da, i
think i do, just
hold on mister.
i stared at all
the junk in her
giant purse as
she shuffled things
around. keys,
kleenex, a cork
screw, some peanut
butter crackers,
perfume and lipstick,
finally she pulled
out a stick
of spearmint in a
foil wrapper and
handed it to me.
then i saw the gun.
whoa, i said. is
that a gun. yikes,
i'm afraid of
women with guns,
i told her. she
laughed like she
does, like a baby
seal on an ice floe,
throwing her wild
red hair back.
she looked around,
then pulled out
the pink pistol
loaded with bullets
and i cringed.
do you want to hold
it. no thanks, i
said. i felt myself
moving away from
her, and not just
in a metaphorical
sense. what's up
with the pistol,
i asked her. it
was pink and shiny
and she fondled
it in her hand,
caressing the
trigger. she smiled
and said pow, pow.
i need it for
protection, baby.
i'm a manager in
a liquor store on
the weekends, and
sometimes i close
up late at night.
hey, maybe we can go
shooting one night.
wouldn't that be fun,
down by the river,
she said excitedly,
shoot up some bottles
and cans, maybe
kill some rats or
something. i chewed
my gum slowly,
thinking it all
through. there are
rats down by the river?
just who are you,
i asked her. i'm
gina she said,
and smiled.