A Deer in the Furniture Showroom

A young buck leapt through the plate glass window
        and frightened by the breaking and the blood
        of his wounds, disassembled couch sectionals

and lazy boy recliners, bleeding on the faux leather
        and pet friendly upholstery. It was a terrible shock.
        The people on Broadway at two in the morning stopped

their cars against the curb and hurried with camera phones
        to capture the moment. One couple saw their favorite
        love seat flipped on its side. Potted plants disintegrated.

The police were called, and two patrolmen arrived with long
        guns drawn. Every light was left on for window shoppers
        and as policy against burglary. The deer was in a bad way,

stumbling through the dining room displays, the China cabinets
        few could afford. Neither cop had fired a weapon on duty.
        They propped open the showroom doors, snapping

throw rugs like whips until the deer disappeared.
        The owner arrived within minutes in slippers
        and goose down. More police converged.

One, a hunter, took off in his squad car
        through the dark streets of East Town.
        Siren throttled for silent running.

*

Al Ortolani is a poetry editor for the Chiron Review. His poems have appeared in Rattle, ONE ART, Pithead Chapel, and Muleskinner Journal. New York Quarterly Books plans to release his most recent poetry collection, American Watercolor, in early 2027.