acrid smelling shotgun shell
spinning through the air
smoke
and taste of smoke
regret
an empty plastic casing
pleasure so temporary
pulling the trigger
young boy
pointing the barrel
inches away from tiny white chest
a chickadee
the rest of his life
tasting the spatter of bird shit
mingled with gun smoke
young man
taking an eight point
nearly two hundred pounds
vertebrae shattering
turning
to face the sound
echoing off distant hills
still running
on its side in the swamp
gray
gray clouds
a cold cold rain
No comments:
Post a Comment