Three short lines, and they land somewhere unexpected. The scene is a dead deer, opened up, its insides on display. "Shining viscera" is oddly beautiful: the word "shining" makes the organs look wet, bright, almost jewel-like, even though we know what we're looking at is gruesome.
Then the speaker says they want to pick out all the hairs. It's a small, fussy wish, the kind of thing you'd feel about a stray hair in a clean kitchen or a meal you're preparing. Set against the mess of guts, it feels both absurd and strangely caring. The title suggests the deer is being gutted, so the judging by the title, the speaker may be the one doing the work, and the urge to clean the meat of hair seems like a mix of practicality and respect.
The mood is quiet and intimate. There's no disgust and no drama, just close attention. The poem finds a kind of gentleness in a bloody job, and it makes us look hard at something most people would turn away from.