Michael Sikkema
Watch for Deer
a small pile
of exercise bikes
burns in
the left turn lane
13 ungulates smirk
Watch for Deer
they fill up on flags
and lose all musicality
local despair percolates
in their chests
ticks and big trucks
seize in their telepathy
that shit sucks
Watch for Deer
their fangs shine
for profit and once
you haggle in
that palace you’ll
yell at the dotted
yellow line while
a pool of deer swamps
your best BBQ plans
they stick you with
lightning and clergy
Watch for Deer
they’ll drink your
roses and Sunday
entire families wearing
only headlamps and
debt line the state roads
counting antler tines
still as fence posts
empty-handed
ready to swell
Watch for Deer
I’m not late, am I?
they’ll say in unison
30-40 thick, lifting
your car with a hiss
you have some
acres to replant
they’ll say
hoof-click, dittany
star-gasp, it’s all
a little too much
sky buzzes in your ears
you can’t even swim
Watch for Deer
the dark barn
just gets louder
black static pours
into the herd as you
call in crows who
call in other crows
the deer get as far
as the back pasture
they droop
and root down
into the clay
antenna antlers
begin the broadcast
Michael Sikkema writes about the natural and supernatural and the bridge between. He also writes about other things but these bios are supposed to be succinct. He is the author of Half an Owl in Garden Light, published by Alien Buddha Press in 2021, and Caw Caw Phony, out from Trembling Pillow Press in 2022. Without provocation, he will readily declare Halloween III superior to all other Halloween sequels, and creature features, as a subgenre, superior to slashers as a subgenre.