Wilderness
We could do that, but we’d have to shoot the dog,
skin the rabbit, kick in the deer skull,
fashion an altar from the mushroom fleshed ribs.
Spine like a boulder strewn trail, beside it
the attendant young vulture, head black and fuzzy,
tracking his so savory suspicions.
Alive with ticks the leaf mold undulates
in sequined waves as the sun stokes
air tangible with smoke and perspiration.
The forest burgeons with spiny growth,
obscure species of briar and holly
everywhere like the mouths of curious serpents.
Streams lead from one bog to the next, returning
to similar thickets, sun, stars, and compass useless
as the trails wind down, just where they began.
M. A. Schaffner has had poems published in Shenandoah, Prairie Schooner, Agni, and elsewhere — most recently in Raintown Review, and Fox Adoption Magazine. Long-ago-published books include the poetry collection The Good Opinion of Squirrels and the novel War Boys. Schaffner spends most days in Arlington, Virginia juggling a Toshiba laptop and a Gillott 404.