Desert Mule Deer
Mulies stotting in the sage,
from my rent-a-car they run away,
big ears stiff against the breeze,
scrambling frantic, in fear of me.
I’m no hunter…well, not today;
just a tourist who wish they would stay
steady for a roadside pic,
good shot for a Christmas card, rustic.
But can I blame them? I think not,
they’re right to fear what mankind has got;
so I watch coats of mottled gray
as they dash into the desert’s haze.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
