Dallas Lee

God, the temptation was strong to shoot
     just for shooting's sake.
The small explosions. The ripping of foliage,
     beer cans, Jesus Saves signs,
animal flesh. Birds, squirrels, cottontails left
     rotting in the sun,
turtles sinking alive and ruined to the bottom
     of clear-running water.

Once I shot straight up into a large nest, just to see
     if any living thing was home.

My cousin and I came upon a skunk, a nocturnal
creature crossing a clearing in daylight, maybe
lost, maybe young and trusting our innocence.
We smelled only cedar and gunpowder, firing
     our .22s into its vivid body.

Back at the cabin, we listened and watched
our fathers talk and laugh, cleaning shotguns
     and lever-action .30-30s.
They would rise early in the cold to hunt deer,
     wild hogs and turkey.

At home, what they killed would be our supper.
We'd hold their rough hands while they offered
      thanks for Earth's bounty.