The Iconoclast

My friend hunts
with a rifle.
You won't see him often
out there on the prowl
though when you do
it's good, my man:
Distance shots I'd pass on;
Only the best trophies;
Never a maimed doe
bleeding out for miles.

But me?
I sling my shotgun
and head to the cafe.
There's not room enough
for dancing so the patrons
watch me read
and with all those little BBs
something's bound to hit.

This fall brunette's in season.
Watch the redheads graze.
And if, by chance, you meet a blonde
save it, dead-eye.
Spare her.

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