the beekeeper.

dan.

it's funny,
you were among the first of them,
but you were the last to receive a name.
shotgun dan,
that's what i called you.
you were named after a pizzeria to make you seem much less threatening.

you were different.
you were the only one who changed little aspects of themselves.
you had piercing yellow eyes;
that stayed the same.
you always had a gun;
that never left.
however some nights it would be a shotgun,
others it would be a pistol
or a revolver
or a rifle
or a muzzleloader.
you were the only one that wasn't constant.

somehow that made you more frightening.

we met when i was young,
seven,
maybe eight.
i was already fucked up in the head
and saw things that weren't really there.
you were among those things.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
one after another,
shot after shot.
you made an entrance, that's for sure.
then came your eyes.
i could see them.
they were oddly human like.

i've never seen anything but the gleam of your illuminated firearm
and your bright yellow eyes.
i have no clue what you truly look like.
it's suspenseful,
but you haven't stepped close to me yet.
you always stay in the woods,
guarded by the shadows.
i'm glad.
you're not like zack.
you hate the confrontation.

i suppose you deserve a poem, too,
huh dan?