Deer Park deer; Gore
On coffee table legs
the silent young deer stands, sleek
and keen for nothing in its groomed world.
It is thinking, nothing surprises me.
Even the sudden flap of a picnic rug
would not cause it to shy away.
Without eagerness it waits to see
if I will offer it food. It is a teenager
bored by old music, blank to any history.
Its eyes are dark pools of disdain.
It has no notion of forests
as deep as an inter-galactic map, as wild
as whole oceans. It is not afraid.
It is not astonished.
Kay McKenzie Cooke