Poem: The Deer

At the intersection of fantasy and reality.

The goddess bathed in spring
caught you staring–
enraged in these woods
by the impropriety of your leer,
she cursed you into a deer.

A fortunate buck,
cast out from cities of men,
you leap through trees
with your wobbly trot.
Your insolence washed away,
concealed in these mystical woods,
traveling, limping, across these decks,
sipping on water from a plastic pool.
Now you walk the straight and narrow,
you missed those days of bows and arrows.
Yea, yet still you have much to fear–

When we maul you for sport,
do you know?
You will hang stuffed on our tavern wall.
Habitually you are caught
peering into lights on roads
as if seeking divinity
or wishing to die in peace.

Now this forest is in flames–
your surroundings a broiling array
of whisked embers and shrieking maws.
Man’s machinations make
a wasteland of your home.

When that Bambi ran to you for help,
did your antlers inspire hope
inside those tiny hooves?
Or had the mouse caught him yet?
Be weary of his castle-sanctuary.
There is an iron fist
behind these tinted gloves.

He plundered our myths
for the glory of his kingdom.
Now look what fire to the land
his industry and beliefs have wrought.
A Hollywood protagonist,
he wants your
complacent comfortability.
Perhaps you will find respite,
from these broiling fumes,
beneath the pirate’s port,
where his frozen father sits,
awaiting to revive.

She was a crafty goddess, wasn’t she,
my deer friend?

Photo by Tim Schmidbauer on Unsplash