Incorporating Mooses by Ted Hughes

Shaun Ingalls

The beast’s temperament is an enigma,
goofy howling while driving home on the first day.
Moose sound the same, only a few octaves lower.
The jig was up when he screamed and hollered for a couch rescue.
Walking down the hallway, I raced to see what’s the matter.
House alive with worry and concern. Then his limber
frame leaped into the air and onto the floor like an Olympic gymnast, manipulative monster.
Is this how it’s going to be?
Lost forever in those mud-brown eyes,
In the bushy white eyebrows that furrow and judge,
the tilt of the head and slight flick of a too small pink tongue,
forest of cotton snout tangles comically horizontal after a nap?


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