With Arrows Through Their Necks
       

Downtown, the statue of a deer
was vandalized today—its flowering antlers
damaged so bad they had to be removed.
I don't know if we deserve art
or anything. My parents framed
a few of my middle school paintings,
have them hanging in the guest room
where I sleep when I come to visit.
Nowadays, instead of painting,
I accumulate useless coupons
and stray farther from anything
resembling stability. In my hometown,
people keep finding herons and cormorants
with arrows through their slender necks,
meaning there are critics
even of perfection. Here, in the afternoons,
the storms slide down the mountains
and unload their complaints, hail
large enough to leave dents
in the grill out back, large enough
to total my friend's car. So what
if I'm happy for a moment
watching two birds whose names I don't know
fighting in the branches of a tree
whose name I don't know?
Anyone with information is asked
to step forward, into the light of day.

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Copyright © 2022 Andrew Hemmert All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission