Northwoods
Sturdy boots slipping in sandy soil
on the old two-track road.
Waist-high ferns like prehistoric trees
Delicately graze my hips.
Where are the miniature native villagers
With their regal kings and queens?
Hiding under the brush?
The weight on my arm of
A 12-gauge shotgun,
My adolescent hands clutching the
Smooth wooden forestock.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, fuck, fuck,
It’s exciting to say dirty words
Grandpa’s heavy coat, a rugged red plaid
Keeps me warm.
Its khaki canvas pockets hold
Shotgun shells
Floppy dead bird
Drying droplets of blood.
Dad, can we go home now?
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This is so good! I really feel as if I'm getting inside the head of this adolescent boy. I love how much he loves to say 'fuck,' and I love that the same coat that keeps him warm has dead birds in the pocket. Really excellent!
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