A species apart,
snaggle-toothed,
speech full of spitty hisses.
Horse-faced with a hangover,
half out his mind.
Gnarl-knuckled, forearms
bark-thick with scabs.
Laugh, a barking dog
frenzied on a chain.
Shredded ear, faint-lipped scar
dug into eyebrow.
Lined up his gear: rawhide gloves,
machete, scoped Remington.
Last I saw, he set out, full sun,
beneath red leaves,
which wind, reared up, soon
tore limb from limb.
This appeared in the November 2014 issue.
Carmine Starnino (@cstarnino) is editor-in-chief of The Walrus.
Nolan Pelletier does artwork for The New Yorker, the Globe and Mail, and the New York Times.
