The prompt is asking what do I do for play, I tried to come up with something funny but the well is dry today.
So this a sombre tale with a serious message. I was concerned maybe a bit too serious, I asked a trusted friend and he said “Go for it” so blame him, I’m not mentioning his name, but it’s not Frank or Jim because I don’t know anyone with either of those names.
It was an odd thing, I wrote it, then afterward a song came to mind by Tom Paxton “Buy a Gun For Your Son”. It’s a brilliant song where aforementioned son ends up with his finger poised over the nuclear button all because guns, toy and later real were part of his life. I’ve also woven into the story the kind of upbringing, or lack of that can allow people to grow up with no moral compass. For those unfamiliar with British culture here in the UK unmarried mothers boyfriends are often called uncle..

Plastic Guns, Real Deaths

He was four when he got his first gun, a little yellow plastic thing
Bought for his birthday buy uncle Steve, his mum doesn’t wear his ring
He pointed that gun at all and sundry it made him feel a whole lot bigger
Only trouble was not much happened when he pulled the trigger

When he was five, another gun bought by uncle Ray
This one fired sponge bullets it’s colour black and grey
His mother got fed up of sweeping bullets off the floor
And all the visitors got fed up of being shot, once through the door

When he was ten his uncle Ben bought him a plastic machine gun
The horrible noise terrified dogs and cats he found it so much fun
That migraine noise drove mother mad, but at least it kept him quiet
He took it to school one day and nearly caused a riot

When he was fifteen a nerf gun was his pride and joy
Bought for him by uncle Roy, his mothers latest toy
Then his first encounter with what he now called pigs
He attacked a bus stop after smoking Roys funny cigs

He wanted a proper gun the seed well sown and planted
From under the counter of a pawn brokers shop, his wish was finally granted
His uncle Declan ran a gang he soon became a member
That was for his birthday in November, he was shot dead by late December.

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My writing isn’t going to stop greed, and it’s not going to stop war, but if I can save just one life by educating tat guns should never be a play thing, then my life will not have been in vane.

All words Meadowhead Bard.