froze eighteen

cautiously crossing the barbed wire fence
their eyes scanned the diamonded landscape,
december first. all trees and berried bushes
twinkled richly under the icy coat of morning rain.
as they walked the crunching meadow
the guns they held hung limply at ease by their sides
casual rambling stride through an ocean
of crackling glass stirred the
grazing doe from midday feast and it bounded
skyward one ,two, three
it was safe as ken squeezed
a trigger on safety

(age 18, 1985)