Poetry of Issue #7        Page 30

Ted Nugent Goes Hunting

in the woods
with gold tip arrows
long bows

Excalibur crossbows.
He posts pictures of deer
meeting their pointed deaths.

But what of the swan puncturing
a suburban pond red, not knowing the arrow
breasting its feathers.

And what of the swan's mate
circling the water in a panic
Should we pull out the arrow

Call animal control
Call 911
Call myself out

for this outrage
while my tongue is still furry
from fast food meat?

I swoon at the memory of my first Big Mac
the romance of Golden Arches.
I look for the slinger of arrows

I am one with the village
in search of our villain.
The swan sinks in the pond,

meat rises in my throat
like a chicken bone.

  Vicki Iorio