White gloves I was gonna be
Mrs. Kennedy
beautiful dress
white stockings
matching shoes.
Go tell your dad it's time to go.
Walk across the field
mud stinking - sinkin
feet into caveman bee catchers
the latest trend of 5 B.C.
The sun was shining
brightly cool air
brightened my cheeks.
One mile later
hello Dad it's time to go
two pheasants lay
beautiful in death red blood splayed
greens translucent charmed
the round of their breasts
now in death.
He roughly thrust them at me
claws which would never cling a tree
red blood stained white gloves
two dead birds now belonged to me.
In a holding clutch as babies on their side.
If I had grace they would be alive.
My father handsome still young
needed something from me
for these birds had died
not a mourning chill forbode
but of love, forebearance, and pride.
"We will eat tonight."
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