Huntress Poem by Bryony Sheldon

She stirs her coffee with the same spoon
That she cradles her foal in.
She's got a lucky feeling about this lightning colt
She'll back it- but deep down she knows she won't win.

On a cold November mourning she opens the case
Of her lethal, little gun.
She's going shooting, you see, she'll hunt something-
For after 5 cold months it's finally open season.

She's gone shooting again, and it's a relief;
Her itchy trigger finger was having cramps,
It was really nagging at her- but, oh, the irony-
Now she's gone and shot up the nag.

The Huntress tries to cover her tracks
As she cries in her filthy room.
The anxiety and fever burns her body all over-
But she just kills the pain with a Zippo and a spoon.