Thanks panu moon for this wonderful poem.

the hunter two bears

crouching under a dogwood, by the bank of the lapping monster pond, the painted hunter lay in wait, for creatures small enough to dread the sting of his ball and its secret.

red ryder muzzle safety on, poised skyward, to protect an imaginary people against the silhouette of ruthless invaders.
mockingbird, squirrel and frog beware, your arrogance will be repaid this day forever.

dappled in shadowwy leaf pattern camouflage, pinging slow motion BB’s into apologizing flesh, scouring the palmetto scrub for an accurate count of coup, and scooping the miracles into a coffee can to gloat upon, and then dance, misunderstanding why.

a basking granddaddy diamondback held my gaze at thirty feet and rattled his maracas high over my head, to teach the potential for havoc of those who lie hidden in full sun, well armed.

there is no ceremony or decoration for ambush, no flags or speeches to forget, or if there were, the enamelled pot metal pin would read, “shame on your ass, son”, and you wouldn’t be able to take it off. ever.