BOone EATS SUPPER

Dan’l Boone kilt a b’ar, in fact kilt eleven of 'em before breakfast one morning,
a hundred fifty one good season. Kilt thirty deer a day as a matter of course,
a hundred beavers on just one hunt, and all the trembling turkeys, buffaloes,
and elks, otters, minks, and muskrats that twitched an ear or wiggled a nose,
in the forest deep and river clear. A personable sort, he befriended the Indians.
Trespassed on their lands anyway, talked himself out of trouble when they caught
him. Not big on farming was old Dan'l, left that grind to Rebecca and the kids.
Disappeared from the home place for months, even years at a time. Bemoaned
his luck when no turkeys or deer were left at his old Kentucky home and he
had to eat home-raised chicken.

 

 

Nancy Shires has published poetry in such places as Avocet, Barbaric Yawp, Main Street Rag, Pinesong (NC Poetry Society), and anthologies and is so glad the Carp shares her sense of humor/outrage.  Now retired, she volunteers with a therapeutic riding program and sometimes finds it hard either to find time to write or the discipline to sit down and do it. After all, it's fun to go to the beach or horsebackriding or lie down on the sofa.