I Don't Know What They Say To Each Other

[to the Chief Musician, to David, singing Psalm 64...]

I don't know what they say to each other in the duck blind
in the woods waiting where it's cold as the poles
and the mist is dank there.

I'm not talking about your ordinary run of the mill hunters
but the soul quenchers.

you know.
the ones that lie in wait
while shooting the breeze.

watch me comes the cry
destroy the innocent with a golden arrow
don't I have the superior poison, the know-how?

don't I? aren't I full of the king's own strategies.
or for that matter, the queen's.
the world is full of it.

the casual slaughter in the daily conversation.

the arrow hits its mark
no valentine.
no foil wrapped chocolate this time.

but the heart goes on as it must;
bleeding in front of the angels

who wait their turn while rust gathers.
and the final reaping.

mary angela douglas 18 january 2016