By: Scott Schmidt
Scott Schmidt is the Muskie Poet. He was born and raised in Park Falls, Wisconsin, and after serving in the military, he attended UW-Stevens Point. Scott has held several jobs since then, including carpentry and a 14-year stint as a long-haul truck driver. He now works as a painter in a door factory and is an active member of the Third Story Writer’s Guild.
When Porky went to bait his stand
One frigid autumn morn,
All he carried in his hand
Was a bucket full of corn.
No gun, no bow, no hunting knife
Was with him on that trail,
All he had to defend his life
Was a flimsy plastic pail.
For Porky could not know that day,
As he marched along that path,
That he would face, to his dismay,
A Mighty Whitetail’s wrath.
The Blockhouse Buck was strong that year,
The Rut was at its peak,
Doe fever had erased his fear,
He’d rutted hard all week.
He was the King around Blockhouse Lake,
His crown was a massive rack,
Young bucks would flee and does would quake,
At the mere sight of his track.
His rack was wide and thick and long,
The tines were sharp and white,
His neck was stout, his shoulders strong,
And he just loved to fight.
So that’s what Porky met that day,
The Mighty Blockhouse Buck,
Porky knew then, right away,
That he’d need all his luck.
The Blockhouse Buck let out a snort,
Stomped his feet, and attacked,
But Porky’s not the retreating sort,
He took not one step back.
Porky swung the pail, but missed,
The buck tried for a gore,
Then Porky connected with his fist,
And that enraged the Buck some more.
The Buck backed up and charged again,
Porky feinted to his right,
The Buck fell for it, so that was when
Porky swung with all his might.
Porky’s aim was on that time,
He hit the Big Buck’s nose,
But an upward sweep of sharpened tines
Tore the buttons from his clothes.
With a roundhouse and an uppercut,
the Blockhouse Buck was stunned.
Though Porky’s brave, he isn’t nuts,
He took the chance to run.
As Porky raced back to his truck,
He laughed, but with good reason,
He knew he’d meet that Blockhouse Buck again,
During rifle season.
And He Did.
End of Story.