The woods are wet, leaves are quiet from
soft
showers.
November Deer Camp
I.m. of Pappy, George and John
The
woods are wet, leaves are quiet from
soft
showers. Six stags, still warm, hang,
tongues out,
heads
down, along the porch. Inside, a shaded
gas
lantern casts a circle through a fog
of
blue – from fragrant Turkish pipe tobacco,
and
cheap twisted Parodi cigars - hovering
above
a green felt-covered gaming table.
The
game is poker. Its paraphernalia clutter
the
table – chips (red white and blue) and cards 9
scattered
among empty bourbon glasses,
and
half filled ash trays. Smells from the
wood stove,
as
deer liver, bacon, onions simmer,
overpower
stale tobacco smoke
and
wool soaked from hunting in the rain.
The
clock face flaunting only 5’s admonishes
“Drinking
Allowed Only After 5.”
The
picture of marines raising the stars and stripes
on
Iwo Jima hangs above the stove. 18
“I sighted in
Sy’s two-seventy after breakfast.
A quarter
covered all three shots,” boasts Pappy.
“That barrel is well bedded,” George observes.
“A case of damn good shooting,” Pappy growls.
Army,
draws on his pipe exhaling perfect
smoke circles,
comments, “Michael, your Parodi
looks like something a fox left on a stone
wall.”
Mike,
unshaven, chewing on the black
wet butt, retorts, “It beats that perfumed ladies
lace you’re smoking.”
29
Jared changes the subject:
“I heard him
(crashing down through pines) and headed
south to cut
him off as he crossed the clearing.
A downhill
shot, two hundred yards, right through
the ribs. I
found the hair plug, followed up
the trail of
blood. He ran a hundred yards,
collapsed,
lungs filled with blood. No need to
bleed
him out.”
Heads nod at Jared’s story,
his
skilled
hunting, running target shot.
Ethan bangs
the cards on felt
impatiently
demanding, “Are you in?” 40
We hear the
truck come up the drive. It’s Kent
returned from
town with groceries. Rushing in,
he’s agitated,
grim faced: “The President has been shot
and killed in
Dallas.”
No one looks up from poker.
Ethan calmly
asks, “How many cards?”
“I’m really
serious. Not a joking subject.
Come listen
yourselves on the radio in the truck.”
We all walk
out and shiver ‘round the cab.
His death’s
the only story on the air
and one by one
file back inside, chastened. 50
It’s quiet at
the table, cards face down.
