A poem about my favorite hobby - archery...3rd place winner in "Bare Bones" contest! |
THE SIXTIETH ARROW You brush your hair out of your eyes And glance down range At the small blue-rimmed circle You've been concentrating on all day, Until your head spins, a swirl of blue and white. But this lollipop vision is not what you want. You must block out all thoughts of blue - Your palette is limited To the three inch circle of white in the center. You select an arrow to carry out the mission; Its only task - to seek and destroy The white circle, to stab The thin paper heart- A clean crime, No blood, Only a small neat hole. You remind yourself to breathe As you load the arrow Into your camo-colored bow. Your arms whine As you gradually pull back the string, But you ignore their burning pleas for rest. You squint through the sight, One eye closed, And waver the bow Until the 20 yard pin lines up, Until yellow meets white. Steady she goes As you flick your thumb, Opening the thin metal hook, The only thing holding the string taut, The only thing keeping the arrow from its prey. It seems like someone hit "slow" On the VCR of time As your arrow slices Through the thick silence. You hold your breath, listening For the dull thud that means you've hit The soft center, the vulnerable heart, Murdered willfully once more. The missile finds its target, The 60th arrow, The last of this grueling tournament, Pierces the throbbing paper heart, thin and white, And makes you A champion. |