Hunters with carcass tags
and bragging rights,
the manly smell of oiled stocks,
camouflaged jackets and heavy boots,
march into the cold
to play soldiers again
and notch another kill
Meat for steaks and stews
are another reason for the hunt,
and then again there’s
the thinning of the herd
to keep nature in line
Some mornings during season
I wake to find elk inside my fences
as large and looming as buffalo
They lift their heads
at the report of scoped rifles
When I point my camera,
they slowly amble into the woods
and ever as slowly return
Old timers swear elk know where
to find “No Hunting” signs
One early dawn as I stood
at the storm door of my cabin
a bull with an eight-point rack
climbed the steps of the porch
and looked into the glass