Does it look like I'm having fun?
Far from shore in midst of bottom shelf ocean,
Holding me by my edges, afraid I'm about to go off.

"Papa, you're a gun," you rattle off for your friends to hear,
"I feel so reckless with you by my side."

Clasping my edges tighter,
I dream of backfiring into a passing thought--
I dream of backfiring into good times--
lift up and into your purse I go,
with a zip the party softens to a buzz,
with a zip I cozy up to velvet darkness.

I gleam in the fluorescent light of a bathroom
and when you wrap your lips around my barrel,
it's you I want to blow off.
I look away when you find my trigger--
I look away, and pretend another's doing the pulling--
"Papa, you're a gun," you whisper especially for me,
"I feel invincible with you by my side."

You won't when you realize the chamber has gone empty.