We follow the tracks of a snowmobile, the Russel and I on a frozen sidewalk. We head toward the river, a farm fence on the left. Rose stiffens and sniffs the air. Impaled on a metal post is a deer head. The eyes glazed and open, tongue swollen to one side, the ears soft and askew. She looks fresh, no blood, nothing hanging out of her neck just soft fur angled over the post. Her pink tongue makes me sad..

I move to take her off the post. Back over the field I see the windows of a house, smoke snaking from the chimney. We are visible, I walk on. He did this. Two feet from the post is a corn feeder. He shot her while she ate.

He shoots birds, kicks his dog, yells at his wife, traps and drowns squirrels. He rammed that head on the post, a trophy to his manhood.

When he drives his wife to church he stops and asks how my days going.

I go back to take her off the post. I close her eyes, run my hands over her soft ears and put her in a bag. At night I walk up the road with the bag and carefully place her on the hood of his truck. He lumbers his big frame out in the morning and sees her. What the Fuck. He hears me crack the rifle while he scratches his head.

I ram his head on that fence post.

xo LA






  1. Please tell me you are making this up. I want to cry but I can’t. I haven’t cried in years even though I hear things like this over and over again. The world is mad enough. I search your blog for cute little things


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