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My Christmas Poem to the Korrektiv Kollektive….

…and all youse guys who bother to bother with me.

(My faults are my own and my virtues are your fault!)

Tree

Uncle Paul played the hunter each Christmas
Out among the frozen hills, his gun in hand,
“It takes more than blood-thirst to hunt, I guess,”
He’d say. “You have to know what’s on your land.”
He’d come back, a bird in bag and listless
To tell his tale. He’d fumble words in his head,
Then begin: “Today was miraculous…”
He’d wander around the land of the dead
With light snow from last night as the world’s pall.
He’d hear a crow sing for mercy on the ridge,
Bleak as rust. And in a pear tree he’d find his soul.
Like Saul’s David, he chased that partridge.
“That pear tree always drops me bitter fruit,
Yet each year it offers me a bird to shoot.”

Comments

  1. Jonathan Webb says:

    Fitting. Thanks.

    People should hunt their own land. For example, I could bag a few slugs.

  2. Matthew Lickona says:

    I could probably bring down a couple of chickens.

    Nicely turned, JOB. Us Cratlicks know about that partridge…

  3. Rufus McCain says:

    One bad pear spoils the whole damn bunch.

    Good one, thanks and Merry Christmas to ye, JOB.

  4. Rufus McCain says:

    I could eat crow in the front yard and squirrel in the back.

  5. Happy Christmas.

  6. Jonathan Webb says:

    Merry Christmas Anon.

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