Deer Leg

Tracking hoofprints in the snow with the dog.
Later on, a detached leg in the dog’s mouth.

Into the dumpster it gets hurled,
the dog circling for final traces.

We’re all looking for crowns for our efforts,
showing them off like a happy mutt.

When images of folly are rebroadcast,
some can clear them away,

others return to the chase, the meat,
not sure who claims victory.

poem by Ellen Foos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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