Elk Hunting

By tradition, hunters from my neck of the woods –
Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio and maybe elsewhere
every few years decide that Eastern white-tail deer
are no longer worth hunting
so they buddy up - three middle-aged, overweight guys

Buck Moon

time, land fenced, deer driven out
save two, more wily, double back, hide
among dense brambles, where we cannot walk
banging pots, noise makers, shooting cap guns,
to chase them through the gap, now forever sealed.
If both or neither grow velvet I can relax,


The beach at Alligator Point – barren
save bird print and sneaker tread,
where we come each week: the dog to run,

chase scents, dig sea shells he carries,
briefly held treasures until another takes his fancy;
and me to walk in silence of waves and wind.

Goodbye Kisses

Risley Hall co-eds kiss their dates
to the sound of the curfew bell.
Last kiss, first kiss, it makes no difference.
All must kiss. Not too passionate,
not too perfunctory. Proper kisses.
The house mother claps her hands.