This is a rewrite of a poem that never should have seen the light of day. Hopefully this version will make amends…

Animals with keen eyes
cast wild glances
when our fathers
prowl the woods
with their certainty,
brandy and guns.

The sun chases the moon’s wake.
Men lock and load.
Prey become invisible
in well-worn shade.

Under the high sun
brandy wears thin.
Guns become unwieldy
in heavy hands.
Men begin to stumble
in unfamiliar ground,
uncertain of the direction
they have taken.