Hunting Grounds

Balanced on the rock:
toes curled for grip and
peering into the water
with spear poised for
a wriggling fish.

Rolling in the air
with a squirt of throttle:
pulling back until the
redness blinds the back
of the eye and squeezing
the trigger for the buck
and roar of escaped rockets.

Easing the mouse,
hovering the cursor:
waiting for that moment
in the stream of silence
when the words become
ripe for the clicking.

Added @ 02:19 PM to Poetry category on October 09, 1999