Mountain Lion

— a spin on “The Truro Bear” by Mary Oliver

Some folks seen it, behind Nelson’s coup,
an auburn smudge in the corner,
among the terrors and broke debris.

A few winters ago, I saw blood
in the snowbank by the Larsen
place. Last spring, a shank

In the grass. Last Saturday,
my wife saw something,
lower than labrador, slink

Across the road to Sally Creek.
She wasn’t sure. But yesterday, in the street,
Dorothy spun a blonde curl

On a rock, down past Engel’s
beanfield, basking. She fisted
a rake and swears to it.

I think DNR got wind of this,
and it’s much to-do down at Ern’s:
beer, beans and bluster

Do that to a town. But I don’t know.
My wife saw something. Dorothy
saw something. Shit, all I know is:

Larsen’s snow was red that winter —
scrap red nasty — until the next
white sheet covered it up.

Image: Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

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