Image courtesy of Somewhere Between the Lines. All rights reserved.

sinking into soft earth
bulging sodden hay
bright bulls-eye face
waiting

shaky novice
looses first arrow
no worry
errant shaft flies wildly by
doze ‘til he is done
none the worse for wear

hulking bully
shoves his way to
head of line
posturing
his aim too arrogant
to be true
shot with same boasting affectation
as his prattling words
nicks here and there
well withstood

studied pro draws next
pulling bow with
surgical precision
arrows of purest steel
three in rapid succession
burrow into my breast
pain is deep but not widespread
fresh bulls-eye covers up the wound

little boy
bow as big as he
struggles mightily
to make his mark.
I send him silent prayer
his arrow arches
on wobbly path
oh, that I could move closer

his arrow falls a meter shy
hearts are broken
his and mine