Bigfoot's Love Slave

Sometimes, even though you know that somebody isn't being serious (and they aren't even really talking to you), the inspiration suddenly strikes and never goes away. So, I wrote this poem because that inspiration struck and just never went away.

Bigfoot's Love Slave

This poem is dedicated to Dr. John August Wood and
to Dr. Scott E. Goins, without whose tutelage and
mentoring, this poem would have never been written.

What lurks in the forest when we're not there
is mysterious as the other worlds,
so when he set out that day expecting to hunt,
nobody expected what would happen next.
The huge hand mistaken as a bear,
the sudden sweeping motion,
the loving growl that echoed through the trees,
and the dropped gun that didn't make a sound.

Perhaps he is a Greek sailor,
or at least a stranded descendant,
hardened by travels and left to mutate,
not having any love in vegetation.
Nature does not quell nature's desires.

Now the soft fur caresses the warm body
and the leathered lips grunt and groan
as the man stands naked against the tree
and sees nothing but the rigid bark
and, Bigfoot, on his knees continues to thrust.