Huntress (Poetry)

She’s eager for the chase, so casts around,
her plastic weapon sheathed, she reads the signs,
feels confident she knows this hunting ground
and sights the quarry — tagged, in branded lines.

While others hunt in packs, she roams alone
and sniffs out bargains as the sales begin —
rock bottom prices cut right to the bone —
she spies an end of range and arrows in.

Experienced, she quarters the shop floor,
picks off factory seconds, slightly soiled,
the end of season stragglers, the flawed,
her reflexes spring loaded and well oiled.

It is the New Year cull of last year’s frocks —
outmoded now, odd-sized, each crumpled pelt
is someone’s prize. A sudden stampede rocks
the groaning rails, each killing keenly felt.

Then to the checkouts, brandishing the skins —
she heaps her trophies, scorning what is due,
then flourishes his Amex (for his sins)
and smiles, triumphant, as it swipes clean through.