I think it is self explanatory.
THE PRICE OF ADMISSION
It is hardly surprising
I have a bullet in my hand.
This is America after all.
It lies uneasily my palm,
a combination of brass cylinder,
and enough lead to cause mayhem,
but it will never participate
in a lethal, kinetic ballet.
Impotent, inert, chained to a ring
whose key opens a door
onto a room carpeted
with the skins of cows.The place I was staying was carpeted with the skins of cows. The poem was sparked by the bullet on the key chain and wrote itself. I have to thank the Secret Poets for their input and for the idea of tidying the poem up into three stanzas.
I leave you with Anna Ternheim.