The Hunter

[Landscape view is recommended on a mobile device]

Trophies in your office
Things that once had life
Now dead.
Mounted. Hanging on your wall.
Your prize. Your pride.
Like your ego. Puffed up.
Filled with fluff and plastic inside.
Corner office. Illusion of power.
Big and burley outside;
Small man on the inside.

You were the hunter.
I was your prey.
Damn you, poacher!
Years after the hunt. The chase.
I realize. Hunting was more than a sport.
It was your life. No limits.
I was fair game.

You didn’t have a permit.
You didn’t shake my husband’s hand
And ask, “May I fondle your bride?”
No. A hunter corners his prey.
Watches for her weakness.
Slips in for the kill.
I. Once alive. Now wounded.
Unmounted.
My carcass left to waste away.

You hunt. You fish.
You lure. You troll.
Catch and release. A photo to brag.
A story for your fishing buddies.

Fish tales [ T – H – I – S ] big!
Exaggerated.
Your perception of yourself.

My broken wing yet,
I fly.
Regain my strength.
Catch a breeze.
Wind beneath my wings.
Fly so high. New perspective.
I see you. Little man.
On the ground.
Hungry old hunter.
Begging for crumbs.

Tables turned on this high-priced safari.
It’s a jungle out there.
I am the huntress.
Feeding my pride.
Can you hear my roar?
I could bite your head off.
My teeth are sharp.
Cunning skills.
Now I hold the power.

You beg for mercy.
You think you nurtured.
I say you groomed.
I’m not your trophy.
I’m the one that got away.

How many victims have been snared in your trap?
How many did you catch and release?
How much did you pay for this license to kill?

One day, mighty hunter
One day, you will know
The cost for the trophies
The cost for the carnage
Insides out. Gutted. Left to rot.
The price of your hunt?
Perhaps the loss of your pride
Perhaps the loss of your good life.

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