Bigfoot

by Mario Milosevic

In his last few years

Datus took oxygen through a plastic tube

from a portable tank

he pushed around on big black wheels.

He'd tell stories of the two times

he met Bigfoot in the woods

and how on both occasions

she made advances toward him

that he understood to be

of a distinctly provocative nature.

Perhaps they were the misguided impulses

of a lonely creature missing her true mate.

Datus said he didn't stick around

long enough to find out.

But he did get a good enough

look at her to spend a lot of time

drawing her portrait from memory

and making photocopies of her likeness

at the library's copy machine.

He would emit growling sounds

from deep in his throat

as he pushed the print button repeatedly.

An earthy aroma drifted up

from his clothes as he worked

and his hair was wild and uncombed.

His beard grew unimpeded

by conventional grooming standards

and in his milky eyes

it was just possible

to see a hint of longing and regret

at not having seen his lady

since those first meetings

five decades ago.