Living the Dream

When he was walking through springy moss,
it was easy to sneak up on what he thought was rabbit warren,
wrap his woven weed loop around Easter mouth
and trail long rope over to bushes
that held him stick thin as their branches
while he waited for morning’s run.

In a flurry of child-like screams, his mangy meal
found itself lasso’d limply over rock altar
of patchy fire pit, spitting lambish fat
at feeble fire that flared hungrily
as buck fed it.  Air was cut by smacking
lips and leaps of snapping cottonwood.

Fork of branch held its gutted body shrinking
to tough brown meat until bones, soft enough to crack
with chipped teeth, pushed flesh away.

Riverside Louis would feast, wiping
dry blood and leftover juices onto fur
flung far enough away that Cavy
could not change its mind and jump back into it.

Louis would eat until he lost thumping
in pit of his stomach to hold him over
until midnight mass for another offering.
He would harbor a heat until he could wash
this crucified celebration down with wicked wine.

Tags: Poems //