Dear Head
You don’t need the deer
Your grandfather’s perk
The skill of his kill
Preserved head of a dead
And wormeaten body
Formaldehyde face
Eyes chilled black
Lips lifeless and knowing their place.
You don’t need a taciturn taxiderm treasure
Pokerface saddled
On a laquered wooden plaque.
You have the byproduct
Of your singular skill,
And each night and day
Slowly,
You gnaw off her head.
Copyright © Roseann Geiger | Year Posted 2017
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