Tacit Feast
A bear cub dashing eastward found Gil Hillcrest.
Inebriated, joyfully kicking, laughing, merrily nauseated.
Observing practically quiet rapaciously stopped.
Tacitly, unexpectedly, voraciously, whipped, X-Gil.
Yesterday's zealous-zap!
So the story goes.
Tomorrows feast; who knows?
Opportunities like Gil Hillcrest are rare.
Practically a sitting duck; what luck!
The band at the bar began their break.
Their silent sojourn stopped; screaming started.
Happy hour halted hurriedly; Hillcrest!
Staggering, blood streaming steadily,
“Stop” he shouted.
Wild-eyed, worried, the cub withdrew.
Just as mauling mama meandered on the scene,
Gil woke up…warily.
© July 13, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
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