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George Lewis Avery

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last night
i joined a frien on a hunt
t was odd me being invited along
knowing my frien as i do
he s one of them solitary fellers
[a troubled soul you might say]
who keeps his face in the shadows
and what has little to say
and less time for listnin
a lot like me
actually

we rendezvoued by the river
where he d crossed over by boat
we never exchanged a word betwixt us
he just passed over the lead to his hunting dog
an once it had put its nostrils to the ground
the chase was on

fortunately
i gots strong legs
and keeping pace wit that mongrel
once it picked up the blood trail
was no easy thing
my lungs was aching inside of ten minutes
and when i glanced over at my frien
he was gliding along like the wind carried him
but that s the way wit them slender fellers
they are built for running

the varmint we was atter
once it heard our hound baying back of it
took to runnin
and skairt varmints can run like a rock careening down a cliff face
i seen it look back over its shoulder a couple of times and one time
when it got a decent peek at who it was was atter it
i heard it let out a pitiable cry of despair
atter that it was runnin so fast we
culdn t get within sightin distance of it again
so i let loose the hound and
it had the varmint treed in short order
my frien give me a nudge an so
i stepped in and clubbed the poor bugger on its crown
it was the charitable thing to do as
that hound was chewing him up something awful

that s what you get
i said
fer shying away from your appointments
we woulda gone softer on yer if you d fought it out like a real man
or even give up without so much as a struggle
its yer fault we ad ter sicked the dogs on yer

i throwed the carcass across my shoulder
and i carted it back to the boat with little labor lost
there i knelt and skritched his dog behind its ears
[all of them]
my companion give me his best smile from
behind that inpenetrable mask he wears
and lifted his hand in farewell as
he pushed off with his pole
sending boat and cargo sliding smoothly
into the mists enshrouding the river

that he had been genuinely impressed
by my prowess with oaken limb and rusted spike
i am assured
and while i lean on my prized possession
and gaze retrospectively into the fire
i am anticipating our next hunt together
this time i will select the game
and he will end the hunt
as always
he will offer to make a trade
of my club for his scythe

little chance of that
i m holding out for the three-headed dog

~i am Troll

.oeg ©