The sign over the shop "All for catching poems" flashed and sparkled with multicolored light bulbs. Little Poet wrinkled on the doorstep and pushed the door, which immediately rang with a bell.
Behind the counter he was met by a hospitable salesman with dashingly twisted mustaches and immediately rushed into the attack:
- What would you do? Which poems did you think of hunting? Alone or in company? Do you want to take part in the Battle of Trappers? I highly recommend it. This season there are many chancellors, in some places they can be caught without a license. Or do you prefer poems? Ballads, poetry novels? Fables, hymns? Odessa, elegy? Soon the flight of sonnets will begin, rondo will go to spawn. Come here, to the window, look, choose! - He led the hesitant buyer to the wall rack, completely made up of samples of goods (all sorts of fishing gear) and stuffed poems. Little Poet's eyes are scattered.
- I haven't really decided yet," he said quietly.
The mustache cheered up:
- Excellent. Then let's work together and decide what's best for you. It's important what poems you go to. I would recommend something solid, big predator, for example, a matched poem - a noble trophy. You can try to take a historical one or a lyrical-dramatic one. For satire, too, we will find something. For example, these hardened steel hooks can withstand up to a hundred kilograms of poetry!
Little Poet, looking at considerable fangs in the mouth of a shabby poem, the skin of which was hung together with his head on chains to the ceiling, shrugged his shoulders indefinitely.
The seller followed his eyes.
- Well, maybe poems in prose?" said the lightest, easiest contemptress, looking at the poet's kerchief. - Or simple ditties, say, some of the stories like...
- Is this about the "storm of darkness hides"? - Little Poet turned his eyes on him.
- Yeah," the mustache smiled, "both catching up and hiding... with a mother. Forget it - a pun, a cheap one. And there was this other thing... - He glanced at the entrance, where he could see the sound of the doorbell. - But it was used by poets only on Saturnalia! - Having tracked down the reaction, that is, its absence in an inexperienced buyer, he whispered: "Or something forbidden, narcotic, when taking ragweed... No? - And he changed his tone, cheerfully rubbing his hands:
- Yes! Trappers of poems and hymns must be strong, strong in spirit and enduring. However, love poetry is not a pound of raisins either. Only the most desperate daredevils hunt such poems. Sometimes such a hunt ends in tragedy. Because the wounded poem attacks the hunter and causes him severe injuries, even incompatible with life!
- No, no, I would have had something smaller, not so dangerous," the frightened customer recoiled and immediately stumbled upon a gallery of photographs in neat frames. From the contemplation of happy tanned muscular poets sitting on the carcass of a sleeping poetic monster with a sad face or on top of meditative lyrics with his tongue poured out on the side, it became bad for him.
- And what is this? - he had little interest in it.
- Great choice!
- The mustache rejoiced, his eyes shone.
- You are a connoisseur, connoisseur! True, this is an antique exhibit, these days they do not hunt like this. Regina!
- He proudly explained, removing from the stands a strong spear with a wide two-legged knife on a stick.
The hunting tactics were as follows: matched poems were poisoned, driven to a dead end, in the net, pressed against the rocks, and finished. The main thing for a hunter was the ability not only to strike a deadly blow but also to hold a powerful creature in place for some time. Today, poems are much more humane.
Small poems are snared - look, I can offer small traps of horsehair with hemp ends, handmade. Or factory, choose. And here you can see how to arrange natural traps: any split high stump on a poetic path can be a deadly trap for a poem. If you provide him with sharp teeth as bait, the poem will jump after it, get his paws in the cracks and get stuck. Beautiful, isn't it?
Remember the expression "to climb the horn"? Here they are, "jones" - special traps-trident. And this is a trap. It is necessary to drive the poles into the ground in a circle and to fix the highest one, with the bait on the unstable poles, in the center. Curious or hungry poem sits on it and falls down, where it stays, unable to get out or take off. Sometimes this trap is so full of clumsy verses that the upper ones press the lower ones with their weight. But the pride of our shop is, of course, the traps.
Wooden, iron. To repel the smell of metal and rust, traps are boiled in ink and no longer touched with bare hands. See, here we have a wide range of gloves for fishermen. During installation, traps are disguised, making them invisible to poems. Nowadays, the most humane, passageways of various designs are becoming more and more widespread.
They are intended for catching small and medium poems, depending on the design they are caught like paws by the neck, chest or torso. They can be installed at different times of the year, on ice, snow, water, swamp, burrows, and trees. It's great, isn't it?
From the abundance of all kinds of iron with teeth and springs, as well as nets, hooks, harpoons, knives, and axes Little Poet wince. His teeth hurt. Hunting for poetry every minute wanted to less and less.
Сontinuation should be...