(The) Death Of A Ghost

I ran my hand down the steel
of the gun my father carried like a cross.
You might say I learned my lessons young
after only sixteen years.
I will live and die right here.
In the place I played as a kid.
But it makes no difference now
as I watch his chest explode.
It makes no difference now,
he was dead to me long ago.
In the smell of gasoline
On a summer afternoon.
In a town on the bay
where my grandfather learned to swim,
I found my peace in the steel
of the gun my father carried like a cross.
As the blood dripped from his mouth,
he said, “It makes no difference now.”
No, it makes no difference now
as I watch his chest explode.
It makes no difference now,
he was dead to me long ago.