spwilcen
Ugly. So are people. We make mistakes and others pay for them. Other people, animals, mother earth. Bill will come due sometime. Sometimes doing what has to be done, takes a lot of living to get over. Sometimes, you never do.
This piece, friends, is metaphor. Done worse. Not proud. Had to. Ask myself, will I again? Yeah. Guess I will. Making choices, you’re gonna make mistakes. I didn’t write those rules. Can’t change them. Tried some. Failed mostly. Have learned though, to think a little longer before doing what I know is right. Sleeping is tough sometimes, sure, but the alternatives, well, I try not to think about that part.
Old Blue
Nothing Blue liked more than huntin.
I’d been busy, we’d not been –
Huntin.
Bunch a chickens gone last month.
Found Old Blue in a mess of feathers.
Once a dog starts,
You can’t stop him.
We went hunting once more.
We went.
I came back.
Out riding,
Came cross a bocbcat
Layin in a mess of feathers.
Dead.
Neck tore up and broke.
Neighbor said his “bitch had pups,
Reckon they’s Old Blue’s.”
That’n there looks just like him.
That devil.
I’ll take him.
Always make time for huntin, now.
Sometimes carry just a stick.
You can’t see him comin.
But you can hear him still –
Old Blue.
© spwilcenski 2020
TheProse 5/20/2020
spwilcenwrites 10/8/2022
Ramblings 