Who could?
December 5, 2020
Every few seconds
Shots crack, shatter the stillness
Unnerve the poor cur
Who pastes back his ears
And, when unnerved, cannot poop.
The men who kill deer
Stymied by the rain,
stayed home all week, but look out!
They’re back and blasting
Every few minutes
Somewhere, a shot is taken.
Any deer with brains
Not already blown
Would lie flat in a thicket
Burping up its cud
Waiting ‘til nightfall
When at last, it gets to stretch
Haul itself upright
Shake like a wet dog
And set out to find forage.
I see them nightly
Tiptoe past the lens
Proud antlers shining bone-white
Eyes like shy headlights
Wise ghosts who know well
To walk when the woods are still
And men are asleep.
6 comments:
Thank you for this. Just something that I cannot understand. I joke with my next door neighbor when he and his teenage daughter are all suited up in camo that they are just going to shoot photos, right?, and he says, "Yeah, that's all -- ha-ha-ha!" How do people grow up with these different mindsets?
Poor Curtis, good poem.
Our next door neighbor likes to shoot targets in the woods behind our house. I've tried to tune it out - we live in a rural area, after all - but it's really unnerving when it's so close. Our old dog didn't like it. I don't know how our neighbor's 2 dogs tolerate it.
Thanks Julie, I can really relate to this. Our last day of Rifle season is Dec. 12, but then it goes on with Muzzleloader and Archery. A real disruption to anyone who likes to walk in the woods or let their dogs run free.
Your way with words does amaze and delight!
I’ve got thre big guys this year. As I feed them they’re not afraid of me ( but I don’t get close). Too bad the guy below us that always hunted died....
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