Red Dirt Rifle

Red clay road running straight as a sermon, past the soybean and the pine

Front porch sags like Daddy’s shoulders, paint peeling off in curls of white

Coffee in a mason jar, steam ghosting in the thin gray light of mornin’

One boot on the rail, one boot in the gravel, gravel cold and tight

Over the door there’s a nail in the header, held his old .22 for years

He used to lift it down so gentle, wipe the dust and laugh about the squirrels

“Boy, this ain’t for lookin’ tough, this is for the hogs and hurtin’ things,” he’d tell me

Then he’d stare off at the tree line, like he saw some other world

I got a red dirt rifle and a blue-collar Bible, laid out side by side

Little bit of fear, little bit of faith, both loaded up inside

I don’t wanna be some mean fool, I just wanna sleep at night

With this red dirt rifle, leaned easy by the light

County line bar’s got a busted jukebox, hums louder than it sings

Guys in hats talk big talk, slam shots, pound fists on the beat-up wood

They say, “You pack heat?” like it’s the same thing as sayin’ “How you been?” these days

I just shrug and tip my brim low, say, “Man, I’m doin’ what I could”

Is it armor, is it anger, is it just the way we’re raised?

Or a metal crutch we lean on when our hearts feel frayed?

I got a red dirt rifle and a broke-down truck bed, rustin’ in the weeds

Got a whole lotta quiet that I cover up with noise and nicotine

I don’t wanna be the headline, don’t wanna hear my mama cry

So this red dirt rifle just watches while I try