I. Fishing Trip, 1992.



It was hard to tell his size

from far down the dirt road

but as we approached

I found him smaller

than I would have guessed

antlerless, young.

He looked almost black

punctuating a line of maples

and I wondered if he felt

what I did- nausea

mine from the bumpy motion of our van

his from our noisy intrusion.



II. On the Highway, 2002.



A carload of close friends

colliding with a sudden black mass --

steel crumpling, safety glass,

crazed antlers through the windshield,

thunder without lightning.



III. Trophy, Yesterday.



A slumped and sleek mound

dangling a limp tongue over

the tailgate of a rusted pickup

lying in his own blood and waste

barreling down the highway

towards butchery and debasement.

And me, of a sudden, wishing

that his hulking frame

were smashed to pieces

on that truck's grill

rather than be gutted and mastered

by irreverent knives.



About the author:
Jesse Ferguson is a fourth year English Literature major at the University of Ottawa. Mr. Ferguson's work has appeared at Yalla, Redfez.com, Ygdrasil, Stridemagazine, High Altitude Poetry, The Big Tex[t], Magazineshiver and are slated to appear in the January editions of Saucyvox, and Carillon Magazine.

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