Hunting
by Nora Rawn


They’re saying the Columbia River’s
sea lions are vermin
and should be removed,
just for being hungry for dinner,

meanwhile Baltimore has
hired sharpshooters, teams
with high-powered rifles
and tactical gear sent into


city parks to exterminate the
deer one by one, reduce them
to a more manageable level. They’re a
nuisance, you see—in the way,


hurting the balance.
I relate to them. Once I decided
I shouldn’t eat meat unless
I did the dirty work myself, but


it’s hard to manage from the city,
to learn to shoot, get the permit,
drive to the woods,
become the killer; it’s not inborn.


My ex surprised me with a trip
to the firing range, romantically—
romantic knowing my desires, that is.
People can show such sweet attentiveness


even as they ruin your life.
Which would you rather be: the one with
the gun? Or the one with the appetites?
And why was he both?


  Nora Rawn works in subrights in publishing and lives in Brooklyn. She has had pieces published or forthcoming in Dodo Eraser, Dreck Lit, Be About It Press, Burning House, Electric Pink, Tap Into Poetry, Burial Magazine, Some Words, and Michigan City Review of Books. She spends too much time on twitter under @norabird.