(aka motomynd)
The deer accept me as their own,
rest easy an arm’s reach away.
They welcome me into the nursery thicket,
protecting them as the new are born.
They trust me,
think they know my mind,
but I’m an infiltrator,
I used to hunt their kind.
That was decades ago.
People think I gave up the hunt,
that a woman is probably to blame,
but I just moved on,
to more dangerous game.
We meet at the airport
plan when and where to go,
me in my white suit and panama hat,
with that cobra-skin band they all know.
Flashing cash and talking shit,
they welcome me into the midst of it,
that brutal illegal world,
where only wildlife smugglers go.
They trust me,
think they know my mind,
but I’m an infiltrator,
I hunt their kind.
| Copyright © 2020 by Paul Clark |
Really good stuff Paul. I didn't see the segue coming until I was in the middle of it.
ReplyDeleteYes excellent juxtaposition, nice work, and some people would call what you do God's work too. Perhaps I'll settle for an "atta boy". Poachers are filthy scum, and of course I mean that in a caring and sensitive sort of way...
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ed & Roger. Sorry for the delay, but I've been dealing with a poaching situation literally in my own yard, instead of some higher-profile overseas location. Our yard is a National Wildlife Federation Backyard Wildlife Habitat, and even though we live within city limits, we have several deer living on our property. Since we live "in town" where no shooting or hunting is allowed, our deer are relatively safe. Despite that, and the hunting season being closed, and night hunting being illegal, a few nights before Christmas someone shot a deer in our side yard, less than 75 feet from our house. So far I've not been able to verify if this was an intended poaching incident, or a payback from one of my "Trumpist" neighbors who I had a less than affable conversation with the day before the deer was shot, but I've been devoting all available free time attempting to find out.
ReplyDelete