We throw ideas around
without a care for whom they hit
or what damage they do.
When I was in 7th grade
I kept a spitball gun
in my clarinet case
and took it out one day
on the bus ride home.
My weapon, an empty Bic pen
tube with tape over the vent hole,
two juicy spit wads inserted
a couple inches apart,
and for a plunger,
an L-shaped bit of wire.
That afternoon I took
careful aim from the back
of the bus at a friend
seated near the front.
My shot went wide
and hit the driver.
It didn’t go well.
It never does.