The Hunt

We have our feed, our carcass. We were strong
a billion hunts back, we were hard won,
now we are stronger than gods, every bulk
of grocery is a bludgeoned mammoth.
We barely move a limb to fill a bag.
Slam down the trunk door. The car is full.
There is no room for this one. We strap it
(buck naked) to the roof-rack. We're all set.
She stares at the never-changing blue sky,
her eyes tear-red, her lungs dry and weary,
her spine pressed on painted metal, her back
thrums with the bass of the engine, echoes
of her vain screaming trail the exhaust pipe.
We drag her past yet another Wal Mart.