Very little light spilled into the tack room.
We were silhouettes to each other.
The old man with the shaking gun
and Kathy and I
our peals of laughter cut short by his stooped shadow.
"Step away from him"
Voice echoing in the barn
Grim, and threatening,
Willing to kill if need be. Maybe killed before.
In a second's fraction I realized
Laughter misunderstood for screams.
Short hair distorting gender.
Finger on trigger trembling
No time to reason aging grey matter
So I stepped
quickly, smoothly
right in front of her.
Then I reasoned
Then sweat ran
until the man with the Klan
statue on his mantel
Lowered the gun.


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