Human Impact
10/11/2017 0 Comments Poem for the Dead BuckShouldn't it have been enough:
Just to kill you with a gun? Then prop you up in a cool, blue pasture. All by yourself excepting maybe a wren or something some regional bird And leave it at that? Did they really have to kill you just to kill you again? To wedge an arrow inside of the bullet wound and lay you down, with that tongue lolled out under their desert lamps? Mothers lead their babies away from you, saying: "Let's go find something alive" "Or at least looks alive" And I can't say that I blame them. I feel humiliated for you. What was so wrong with you in particular? So wrong that they couldn't give you the dignity of a proper stand? A dynamic pose? The good glass eyes? Instead of discarding you on your side: In a corner. In the dirt. Must we all be subjected to this? It would probably be too obscene, too much to look at much less to display If it weren't for the many buzzards stationed around you: Sentinels keeping watch With their wings outstretched to shield your body like the hands of a mother over her child’s eyes
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November 2017
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