Whitetail Shoulder Mount, Wisconsin I swear the head of the buck My brother shot has turned Since last I was home like it did The snowy morning he heard A stick crack his and antlers I swear have grown Two points a shot from the top Of the key to be mounted On a cabin wall is a kind Of immortality had my brother Missed and the deer died A natural death he would have Gone into air with the vultures Into the ground in the worms Flesh shattered into myriad forms Leaving only his bones for boys To find the boomerangs of the ribs The break-action rifles of the legs The cave-riddled hill of the skull Instead he looks about the way He did before my brother pulled The trigger only the other way