The Death of Eve Reconsidered

Across the street near the park, we hear a smack

right where deer often pass into the  arboretum

we see a dented car speeding away from the scene

a pastoral green dotted by towering trees suddenly

disrupted by a staggering doe    a brown bruise

hitching into the park    hip crushed    leg dragging.

Her fawn’s white chevrons    heaving in her wake.

We watch    enchanted    as he stoops to nuzzle

where he once butted her flank    tongued a nipple.

He may remember following her from his hideaway

recall sunlight slanting the pavement   the treetops;

he’ll replay the screech,    thud    whump    and

the elms, sighing    we know how the story ends.

But, No! In the Nature Center    one hip bulging

she lives on    raising the fawn    next year, another.