I was told that it is bad luck
to buy your own Buddha.
I didn’t know, so I bought
my own bad luck.

I was told that the Buddha
is made from old shell casings,
cylinders of metal lined in a row
waiting for the firing ready to glow.

I like the idea of shell casings melted.
When I was told this, I really felt it,
so I carry him with me wherever
I go the glow of hope shines.

He’s a happy Buddha made of brass,
smiling at me as he waives.
I’m happy, too, with the message sent.
His Nirvana comes from bullets spent.