THE HUNTING BLIND
Seems like a strange name
Isn’t it the prey
that we’re wanting to be blind
The deer in grace and beauty
unable to detect
behind the brown green screen
The man with his guns
and a paper in his hand
given to him by another man
Brown eyes soft in gratitude she bows
to the gift of scattered corn
Maybe it is a good name after all
Maybe it really is the hunter who can’t see