Marmota Monax Remembered

by Jim Fowler
Babilu
Honorable Mention, May 2016
Judged by Joan Colbr


He chittered, body out of burrow,
waiting a hundred feet away,
fenced in a fallow field.

I took the worst arrow from my
quiver. Nock nearly gone, chanced it
to string, drew and aimed straight up.

The errant shaft obeyed God’s
ballistic equations as it bore to
earth in a parabolic arc.

He stared blankly at the steel tipped
twig planted deeply beside him,
wonder in his woodchuck eyes.

About his lair, fletched beauty,
a forest of arrows, life’s close calls.


A fine use of language “ballistic equations” “fletched beauty” with a nicely ironic ending. --Joan Colby