Marksmanship

Frustrations boil
My legs are weary
Eyes are blurred with stress
My shoulders ache
My head is pounding
Under life’s constant duress

I step inside
I drop my bag
And to the safe at last
My hands calm
My mouth grinning
My troubles? Distant past

My mat is set
My jacket and glove
Muffle the beats of my heart
The target steady
Rounds are blocked
A master of my art

Slowly the stock sets in my shoulder
My cheek is gently pressed close
The world is indeed round, a smoky black circle
And unfairytale like, the white is the foe.

All people, places, problems, pressures
All fade into the harsh light
The bolt is locked, decisively set
And the waltzing target in my sight
AROUND…..Around…..around….

pause

It stops

My breath hitches, I gently squeeze….. a sharp report.

I smile, release, and reload.

The metal heap
Piles of rounds
Discarded metal jackets
Litter the floor
Along with my stress
Exploded in neat little packets.

Targets collected
Mat put away
My darling returns to her safe
Problems forgotten
Life again savored
The range is a revitalizing place.