A poem of sorts I wrote about 7 years ago, in praise of Jim Harrison, a poet, novel and novella writer, nature lover, and all around macho bon vivant:
Hey, you’ve already drunk half that bottle of wine
you bought just last night, I vaguely heard
my wife interject over the sound of glug-glug
pouring into a World’s Greatest Dad mug.
So, I said, Jim Harrison would have finished
one — no, two — bottles by now, I’m sure.
And, I added grandly, now feeling
pleasantly on a roll, he would have gone
out in the back field, I gestured, and
wrestled a bull elk to the ground
with his bare hands, broke its neck,
and cooked it for dinner over a fire
he started by rubbing his own two
thighs together! Is that all? she asked.
No it’s not, as a matter of fact, then
he goes back to the herd and impregnates
all those sad and lonely elk cows,
and in the process creates a race of
half-elk, half-man. Ha!
Hmmph, she snorted, which half?