The deer in the village are angry;
all is out of kilter, wrong.
They remember whispers
of unfettered woodlands,
spreads of blackberries, salmonberries,
wild apple groves, underbrush for shelter
when the rain turns cold.
They stare into each other’s eyes;
no, there was no mention
of small dogs, boys with sticks,
small lights like miniature suns
to invade their night..
The deer in the village are angry,
And they’re not sure
they’re going to