I snuffle around with my muzzle.
Ladybug jumps from grass to pebble, here near
the stream. Then on my horns.
It’s a nice sunny day.
No winds or rain on the horizon.
Perfect for hunting.
That’s how I see above my just shot body.
“What a stag!” – one voice said.
These horns will lovely decorate my
“With rest I’ll make a stew,
the one that tastes the best!”
-said the other voice.
Then they pulled my flabby body,
leaving trail of red juice, staining the flickering water.
Their heavy leathery boots rooted deep rills in the mud,
carrying my unclenched, loosen flesh on their backs.
They packed everything very quickly,
so didn’t recognize the rustle movement behind the oak tree.
I tremble on this cloud of nothingness,
watching the scene of my terrifying dreams:
This time my son
my large body shielded you,
so you could carelessly play in the grass.
What will happen when leathery lethal boots return?