What is an armed white man to do?

I intended to post the first of my new poems today, but not this one as I feel it's one of the weaker ones I've been working at. However, in light of today's Kyle Rittenhouse verdict, it's probably the most apt. 

WHY THE JUDGE IN THE KYLE RITTENHOUSE TRIAL IS RIGHT TO BAN 

USE OF THE WORD “VICTIM” TO DESCRIBE THE UNARMED MEN HE SHOT

Picture it, he found himself there, alone,
Frightened, among dark screaming shapes
Of all kinds. Singing, swinging stolen bats, TVs,
Signposts. Three detached themselves from the horde,
Ran howling and bloody-toothed at him. And he
Could only raise his fortunately-remembered rifle
In shaking hands, blindly firing off rounds that
Miraculously met their marks, stemming
The satanic tide, saving the car dealership, his medic training,
Allowing his return gratefully to high-fiving police.
 
Or say, he left home that morning,
Holding in sweating hands the rifle
He proposed to use to defend lives and property, but mostly property,
By shooting them for whom those words
Meant only destroy, loot, rob. He fired
First at one threatening target, then running
From the herd that would part him from his only
Means of defense, he fell but squeezed off more shots,
Striking surely his not-victims but foamers
At the mouth, angry deniers of his 17-year old body’s
Right to hold that Second Amendment solution,
After which he could only run home.
 
What else is a white man to do?