Poetry Place: Hunter

 

Hunter

 

Stock still he stands

a crimson icon

of this parallel

breathing short shallow

eyes darting through

the shadowed drifting.

Of being still too long

in the raw air of trees coated

in this year’s first lace.

Stock still

with ominous ears perked

looking finger

poised and moist.

Thoughts of a clean shot

an anticipated primal

excitement at

proving one’s skill

of gutting bloodied clothing.

 

 

Of sitting at the Hotel

with friends

in a red room

necks straining to hear

the very detail.

Gun poised solid

absolute power frozen in the November air

crooked waiting.

Strained stiff expectation

in a movement

moment of quadrupeds.

Thinking of the freezer

thinking of stories

prodded late in January

to heights of bloody satisfaction

over beer and pickled egg

a legend in every bite

the cold details numbing even the very tip of his

maleness

he stands stock still.

 

 

By: lhd/15/11/1990

 

Featured photo: Harrison Haines

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