Swizzle Stick

Shots at Chekhov's Gun

If I mention the elephant in the room,
by the end of this poem, it must
have gone off, trumpeting fountains
of trunk water. Chekhov's gun

wasn't loaded, but Chekhov was.
His lack of shots fired were fortunate.
Only the vodka trembled lightly
in its glass. Guns are a potent

symbol. What about a handkerchief?
If one is mentioned in Act I,
must it be blown into before curtains?

Chekhov's gun lies seductively
on an end table, aware
of its responsibility, biding
its time, hiding in its belly one bullet.

Chekhov's gun got instant gratification
by going off in the very opening line.

Chekhov's gun spitefully & posthumously
featured itself in every Chekhov plot,
inconveniencing everyone, whether or not
it went off.

Lady with Lapdog & Gun.
The Seagull with the Gun.
The Gun & Cherry Orchard.
Uncle Vanya & Gun.
Three Sisters Without a Gun.

Chekhov's gun is no loose ends
or empty references or superfluous
details. Every concrete noun must go off,
or get out of the way.

The elephant in the room is at peace
eating peanuts, but also, remembering guns.