Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

Life’s Not As Easy As A Gun

Hunting All Over Again

tell me to stop writing poetry, this useless mind-fuckery, the all consuming journey
to self-discovery through artless muses, crafted by idle hands from a troubled mind,
as life could suck the yolk from a man. aiming and pointing these words at the world,
is like shooting at woodpeckers that go round and round the bark, so i can blast a stubborn tree
with the hand-me-down, 4-10 gauge-whatever-shotgun given one winter to drive deer
toward his blind.

in a white out, i fired and fired at the annoying bird echoing his labor in that pine edging my trail –
pristine morning path to shack where he sat, drank coffee, read porno he thought hid. did he wonder
about all that firing from a feckless, flanneled, fifteen-year-old without a red trappers hat to own?

dry, because of bread bags he put on my feet to protect tight boots with holes – damaged
from kicking too much snow and ice. my invisible march clomped toward him, he with loaded,
high caliber rifle. his long, metal casings could pierce an animal my size and put me down, put him
out of misery from a meandering boy zigzagging through hovering wood, bored with setting fires,
releasing my groggy summer bees collected in Bell jars, or severing little brother's thumb
with hedge shears.

took way too long to arrive, dispensing every shell i could load, before deciding throw away the gun
before i kill someone and returned to camp to clutch a pen, circle and combine jumbled letters into visions
to soothe an aching head, throbbing again; find another way to put meat on the table.

life's not as easy as a gun.


12.17.22
Now just 20 lines!
5.13.24 restructured as prose poem for publication seeking justified prose poetry.