Hunting and lies…

Duck Blind

Hiding in the cold,
disguised by the blind,
I shuffled my boots quietly
hoping they’d appear
on a cold Saturday morning;
there’s too much time
to think about everything
waiting like this,
so I try to forget all that
and complain about
their delay –
the reverse psychology
of anit-Karma
I’ve made up while waiting
and it works;
out of the sky
they chatter and call,
then circle, hopefully
to me, and my waiting is over,
I check my safety,
rub my weary eyes
and raise my Mossberg
as they set their wings
and descend,
nothing holding them,
softly and calmly
toward the water
and their trust
mesmerizes me,
the flutter of air
against pin tails
is close enough to see
mocking my amateurish
gullibility; a real hunter
would have emptied and
reloaded by now,
but I will say
I saw nothing today
and it will be my lie.

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