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Sunday, Aug. 26, 2012

The Deer Killing Poem

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I'd winged it in the knee,
one of the hind legs
burst open.

I thought, "I killed it,"
but it wasn't dead
yet.

Dad said
I had to shoot it in the neck
to save the rack.

Three times,
reload
three times.

I had trouble aiming
at close range.
One of the rounds got away,
damaged the skull with it.
        There was an energy.

Later on Dad sawed off the top,
shook his head halfway through.
    "Don't know how you'd miss," he said.
I shook my head, too.



Lance Dyzak's prose and poetry rely heavily, and unfortunately, upon subjects that are difficult for his parents to read.

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