The Hunter

Blue wings flutter!
He aims his shotgun,
index finger firm against the steel.
They flush, moving upward
In one split second
He feels the impact of an artist’s color wheel.

Carefully, he squeezes the trigger.
Shot scatters, blue wings flap higher–
Imprints on the canvas of the day.
They peel skyward
as the report of his shotgun dies away.

c Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols
From: Poems for sharing, Arkansas Magazine,
and Poems by Poets’  Roundtable of Arkansas

2 comments on “The Hunter

  1. This one i have not seen before, good


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