The Emotional Orphan

That day the walls closed in
with the suffocating force of
being half a lung shy
of breathing deeply.

Wanderlust – not carnal lust came.

Obsession,
like whispered of
in pastel rooms.

On trusty steed
named Bronco 82
He rode with certainty.

Like a trickshot
at the carnival,
searching for the
giant chinese panda.

The four wheeled banshees
screamed on the plantation;

an irritation to the european killers.

They had traveled so far to taste blood.
The boar offerred respite for the white tailed prey.
Curly tailed mother and her young
were decimating the supply
of what made deer fat and worthy of death.

Heartbeat, blood coursing;
four legs and 24 drumsticks
running for their life or
to be pickled on the counter
of the Stop and Pay at the corner
of big tree and babbling brook.

Slo Mo Roll.

Concentrated reaction and
unheard sound of stitches ripping
offered another shot at the same old thing
no exit…
smell of gas,
and a craving
to light a cigarette.