Just a doe
By Charlie Pearsall
I sit on a stump and pick my nose
And think of many things
Of why my feet are blocks of ice
And how my nostrils sting
It’s so darned cold I had to stoop
To pick my fallen nose
From when it fell upon the ground
Down by my frozen toes
I hope a buck comes gliding by
From somewhere up the hill
But as of yet they ain’t broke loose
From glacier’s icy chill
I marvel that, in ages past
Men lived about these parts
In skins and hides and little else
And killed with sticks and darts
At last a doe comes stiffly past
And by sheer luck, half blind
As noiselessly I twist around
And fall on my behind
A shot rings out! The woods are split
By smoke and fire’s blast
And then I spy the other deer
The one hightailing fast
A flash of rack like upturned chair
Atop a massive head
And I look down just past my feet
A luckless doe, now dead
I sigh a sigh and set to work
From haversack I draw
A pouch, a knife an organ bag
A jerky strip to chaw.
From pouch I draw a little pinch
Of kinni-kinnic blend
And sprinkle some upon the doe
And then for prayer, bend
“Dear God”, I say, in a quiet voice
“I thank you for this gift.
And thank, you doe, though not your choice
I’m glad I didn’t miss.”
“Your gift was life, and you gave all
As much as any buck
He learned his skills from you, sweet Mom.
Sometimes it’s just plain luck”
My fingers tremble at the thought
Of having done this thing
They are so cold, her wound so hot
And when they meet they sting
Her blood I spill upon the ground
Her viscera I pile
Tonight some smaller mouths will feast
For just a little while
Her heart I take, and liver too
It’s too much meat to waste
Though not my favorite cuts for sure
I’ve come to prize the taste.
My task is now to drag her out
It’s not my favorite journey
Two hours toil, I make the car
I’m ready for a gurney
And so the bittersweet success
Of bringing meat to table
Goes on in season’s roulette spin
I’ll play, while I’m still able