It's that time of year.

There’s scratches!
To find them there’s shit.
They’re hunting bears in the woods
And childhood in their life.
Investigating droppings
And claw marks.
Trampled ferns for trails.
Buying store provided urine stink
To avoid being noticed
By the prey
And then come home to the wife
They complain about.

Brag about their skill in hunting
And all the girls they shot
And the one they’ll get tomorrow
She’s hot!!
Just like the antlers they saw today
But didn’t bag.
Their fisher friends are the same.
They didn’t bag that one too
But it was big
And we’ll get it tomorrow
With the new bait.

In the bar the women are using the old bait.
And it’s big
Sometimes.
Only to hook, only to shoot
That one time.
Get that good rack once.
But it missed.
And the stale piss suit
And the beer
And the stories fold into a cars trunk
When the hunter says
I’m going home to the wife.