
Canada Geese

CANADA GEESE
The Veeing geese fly freer now
across the autumn sky
No longer do they gorge
on my father’s golden grain
No longer do I lie in wait
twelve gauge at the ready
to bring them in for dinner
EAGLE-EYE AT EIGHTEEN
The Golden Eagle hangs
on a string of grace
a hundred yards
to the west
I raise the 32-20
Winchester
and squeeze off
a shot
Dead hit in the breast
the string breaks and it drops
Quick voice in my head
Damn fine shot
Slow voice from my heart
Damn fool