Frank F. Atanacio Poetry

With nothing to say
while chasing his prey,
the hunter slipped,
his shot-gun flipped,
and he went on his back,
suddenly a hungry wolf appeared,
and was ready for an attack,
the hunter feared,
as he felt his bones crack,
he couldn’t move a muscle,
the wolf’s dark bulging eyes
danced with anticipation
as he scrutinized his treat,
on the menu was human meat,
while the wolf’s nostrils were steaming,
the hunter was screaming.

Poet: Frank F. Atanacio