By Drucilla Wall,
One misty night on the road
to Wentzville, a doe cut across
the headlights and vanished
kicking gravel chips
from the edge of the woods,
her provoking rump
giving the last flash.
I used to be that woman,
luring men to their deaths,
or so they liked to think,
when each carried his death
like a second heart
already within him.
(Published in The Geese at the Gates. By Drucilla Wall. Salmon Poetry 2011: https://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=220&a=192)