The Deer In The Garden Poem by Real St. Pierre

The Mrs. has a raised
garden, plush with young
tomatoes, beets, radishes
and those organic creatures,
ample and broad, cukes and squash.

We live in mid-forest
and this raised garden
grows in a clearing
that houses the house,
yard and flowers.

But this morning
this clear sun-soaked
morning, just behind
the raised garden
and granite boulder
stood in awesome profile
a deer.

All wood-tan, this buck,
sans antlers, tall
black-eyed, thick muscled
head to foot, gave a long
lean and hungry, dangerous
vegetable look.

He stood as still as the neighboring trees
eyeing the Mrs. and I
deliberating, if he could deliberate;
to take a defiant step
and bow down into
this lush feast or
turn away and later
regret his cowardice.

But little did he know
the wrath he risked,
the Mrs. now squinting
at this beast, a warning
not to be trifled; he perhaps
ignoring his demise.

Eyes to eyes, he met hers
as the Mrs. stepped forward
arms raised
a fearsome glow as she
remembers the hours of sweat
and ache given to this garden.
Another quick step.

this buck, this formidable forest deer
is past deliberation, for
the Mrs. has closed the argument.
“Get away! ” she screams
“Get away from my garden! ”

She is fearsome
and now is not a
time to delay.
What is worse than hunters
is what he sees.
With a bound,
speed to his advantage,
he sprints through the
heavy growth,
formulating another plan.