The Northern Lights dance in unreachable ribbons
Above the head of a dead bull moose.
Stuffed and mounted on wall of tacky pine
Positioned above a false granite hearth.
He’s forced to stared out double glazed windows
and forever watch the shifting skies
While the winds susurrate solar cinders
and stream like a Styx of souls
Slain by excesses of encroaching sportsmen

His tufted brown ears perk up at the howl of the huskies
But its only wire forcing form into his preserved pelt
with his thick brown fur stopping abruptly at the neck.
His killers in their regicide cared not
for the long legs that carried him thousands of miles
Nor the broad shoulders that pushed down trees
In a passing attempt to scratch an itch
His only crime was his broad branching antlers
His crowning expressions of sexual prime

His jaw is pearled with gentle round teeth
Ringing a false mouth that hangs slack in mid bray
He tries to greet the shimmering skies
To bugle forth one more call of clashing battle
As if he could rear up on hind legs and clatter his hooves
To declare this territory, “Mine”
But that plastic mouth was molded in Texas
And mass produced into expressions of realism
speaking through acrylic gums and tongues

His glass eyes cannot perceive the heavenly hues
As they cavort above conifers encrusted in ice
He does not watch the silent parade of his scion
Marching by in a secreted trail known only to natives
His great grand son following in his hoof steps
Through the woods of an inherited kingdom
In another two seasons this one too will be dead
By a paid and pampered safari of some rich hunter
Who slept warm inside instead of looking up in wonder