I Set the Trap & Become the Beast

Was it a careless step? A reckless jaunt?
Was it the trapper's clever skills at work,
out-planning what was never more than here?

The trapped animal doesn't hate the man
who set the iron jaws, or curse its luck,
or think "this is the end". It never stops
to feel these things. Maybe the pain's too great,
maybe it never valued free movement
until the trap's teeth tore into its leg
& isn't ready now to start abstract
thoughts when it needs every shred of strength
to break the grip that holds it fast & leaves
it prey to things unheeded in times past.

It's funny, now, with its blood showing on
the snow like poppies in the summer sun,
it needs to move past present time & clear
the here from now. It must plan what comes next
take deliberate actions, or else it dies;
but it's vague fear, real pain, the endless moment
etched in muscle & timed by gnawing teeth
that wins. & so the beast will either die
or limp, at best, into a crippled future
with bitter blood still fresh on its red tongue.