Attrition

 

Year after year the hunters come,

hawk-like,

swoop down, slaughter deer.

 

The biggest bucks with the largest racks

rarely survive.

As my ancestors left Africa,

 

wandered around Himalayas, drifted

through Eastern Europe,

then Europe, before taking the plunge to America,

 

were the strongest, the largest, picked off

one by one?

Am I a runty remnant of a once grand clan,

 

or the big buck that got away,

the strongest, the fittest, the quickest?

 

~

 

i look at colin   this is a no-brainer

you are the strongest  

the fittest   the quickest   marcy nods

 

~

 

 

 





Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 787 times
Written on 2016-12-22 at 00:40

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The ones who survive make history. Beautiful poem. Really.
2016-12-24


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Sometimes, the big one does get away. Since this is so, sometimes, a hunter feels lucky to get a cow (elk) permit.
2016-12-23


Bibek The PoetBay support member heart!
Interestingly said. :)
2016-12-22



What a very good thought. Colin must have been one that got away. Unfortunately we have so many who were simply allowed to go because they were puny and uninteresting.
This is a very interesting theory ... I like it, both of them.
Ashe~
2016-12-22