Foxy

By
Bright and early at five in the morning I hear a voice
“the birds are flying, the birds are flying”.
As I lay in my bed that pattern is repeated three
times over.
A dirty tactic indeed but I’m not about to complain.
The stairs creak as I make my way to the aroma of
something sweet in the kitchen.
I’m all done eating packed for a long day I hear the
loud roar of the diesel chevy.
The barrel of grandpa’s voice roars “You boys ready”.
My gun and gear was packed from the night before,
there isn’t any waiting around.

The field looks long and the grass looks tall.
Grandpa is ten feet in before I’m even loaded up yet.
“Their they are”, I raise to shoot.
“Mhmm good shot how is the new gun treating you, sure
looks nice.”
Twelve miles and twenty birds later the day is done.
But all I hear is the famous words “So when we gettin’
up tomorrow."





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