Guessing
Holly Brantley
“You are more afraid of them
than they are
of you.”
My eyes glazed over
green fields
with large brown specks
dotting the surface.
The mountainous creatures
cried out against the rumble
of the machine herding them.
A crazy old man
with nothing else
but his bison and red golf cart and
a promised feature
in the newspaper.
“The secret is,”
my father said,
“that you don’t
let them know.”
He held out his hand for me.
“You let them guess.”