The Riddle of Gun Violence

​Sarah, 12th- Oakland, CA
I’m American like white crosses, red blood, and blue lives.
I put the buckshot in your beef, the ball in your brain. Who was it that hushed the griot, shot Lincoln, the King and the Kennedys too?
It was me, spreading like a fire on your prairie. Manifest destiny!

Fathered by Saxons and mothered by the Anglos, raised by the colonies, devourer of pheasant, pig and partridge, boars and bobcats, hippos and lions too, oh my! Conquered King Phil but rebuked by Pontiac. I beat steel, germs beat me.

Faithfully at the side of Daniel Boone and Jesse James, America fell in love with my voice years ago. Built to kill but fun for toys: six-shooters, powder caps, I dance on screens. Johnny Appleseed might have well planted bullets because I am everywhere.
Maybe I won’t be in the news for a while, but I’ll be around. I stand my ground.

Held by panthers or knights, you can try and coerce me with fire, water, and brute force- but my favorite amendment lets me do whatever I want.
I am well-oiled, ready to go, heavy with powder, the big iron on your hip, semi automatic and rapid-fire, double-barreled, always loaded.
What’s my name? Gatling, Smith, Wesson, Remington, Koch, Heckler, Colt, Beretta?
Call me the devil, but I’m just metal and wood! Who am I talking about?