by J. Davidson Hero
A sasquatch stood in splintered shadow, still
and sinister beneath the pine. This shade
of boyhood dreams would peer at me until,
unwilling, I looked back and it conveyed
a sense of baleful dread. So now I hike
the trails at night, and listen for its call.
I sniff the breeze for fecal stink, I mike
it’s haunts, hang cameras in the trees. I crawl
through berry brush that tears like teeth in search
of tufts of hair. I study and I coax
the grain of truth from folklore. I research
the films, the footprint casts, and every hoax.
I’ll scour the hills for Bigfoot bones or turds.
I’ll find some proof. Believe me. Mark my words.
© 2009 J. Davidson
Davidson Hero is a bibliophile, computer
award-winning indie film maker, and most importantly, a husband and
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