The Way the Sun Glints

I didn't know. I'm sorry you've been shot.
My life has been a wrecking ball of fun
While you've been in the hospital. That gun
Was certainly your enemy. I'm not.
I told you I hate guns, hate them a lot,
Fear them, complain about them, always run
When they come into view. The way the sun
Glints off their surfaces — let them all rot.

Now there's a good idea: firearms rotting
Slowly in the sun, an orange mess
In corners of the lawn. I must confess
I've been out playing polo, I've been yachting
With the boss, while your blood wasn't clotting,
And I'm sorry. I was wrong, I guess.