the barrel named inheritance

A Poem by Everett Dulin

there's an heirloom revolver
passed from father to father to son
the barrel named inheritance
i thought i could pass it on

from vietnam nostalgia, and ideation runs
my grandfather had a colt
my lolo was already gone
he left my chekov's gun

my father stared down its lists
the names, the damages, how it fits
in the grip of palm sweat
how it sits perfectly on your head

his vietnam nostalgia
his son and what i represent
my father is gone
now i hold the grip

of chekov's pen
with the revolver at my hip
so when cut turns to run
ill read the barrel

my named inheritance