Uneasy Finality
They come into my yard
and then into my house
tearing and ripping at night.
Awake, I am full of frustration.
They have found some crack
or boards sawn too short
much like an open door.
At day and only occasionally
I sit near the wood-stove
looking out the large picture window
toward the bird-feeder.
One or two will surely arrive.
At first sight of the spastic frenzy
my 22 is in my hand as I open the back door
and sneak out.
Quietly I come within perfect view.
Carefully, I place the red bush within the cross hairs
and pow! The last sound to fall upon
his ears strikes me with uneasy finality.
