In false quiet, the doe’s ears flop about
a snout deep in wild berry bushes
safeguarded by the spring’s pollen mask
a bloodluster smirks
pointing the barrel of a rifle
daydreaming of velvety meats
bringing home victory
the gun cracking its beads of death
repeatedly in a swarm
it ricochets – boomeranging back
at him, breaking bone
slitting his rotten gut open
the meat comes falling out
a cascade of devilish desires.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.