with a last name like Hunter
comes the push of an obligation
to provide a steady supply of
in my case poems
whether killed and skinned at the
regular hunting grounds or
arrowed on my way to have fun
snared after leaving Disneyland
or caught diving under my pillow
I feel compelled to collect them
the ones injured from a bad joke
crushed by the X of a pen
or found lying in a drawer
I will pocket then lay
out in a quiet place
check for a pulse
then try every salve and bandage
pull out my best bedside manner
to get them well enough to
stand and walk free
strange isn’t it
for poets to show mercy
to some phrases and
use others as basketballs
for the trash can