I ripped the elbow of my jacket
on a broken lightbulb
hidden in a bucket
that smelled vaguely of cinnamon.
It was in that carport
down by the bayou,
where the mural of the dying elk,
blood the color of beets,
stares as if pleading with me,
in his death tremor,
to be set free.
Amazing how with few words, you created an amazing visual!! It appears effortlessly, like you fashioned the prompt list on your own!! Congrats