The Hunt

Flying, falling, fighting
They flee.
Despite the chaos;
I can still see.
Sport, a sport that we play -
You must understand, they’re natural prey

I zone in on the biggest
I take my aim
Power pulling at my fingertips
I state my claim
Sport, sport is what I say,
Don’t be foolish, they’re our natural prey

Stupid, slow and languid
This fat waste of air
Pidgeons, rats – not peacocks
Why must you dismay?
Sport, it’s a sport. They are our prey.

My gun, my arm, my eyes
Are poised to take note
Two with one shot.
One straight through the throat
Sport, it’s just a sport, okay?
You must understand it’s the only way.

Feathers flying everywhere
Soon – dead or flown – they’ll be gone.
Go on, have a go -

The Hunt

Here have my gun.
Sport, Son, as I tell you everyday
        Look! A mockingbird.
Take a shot, it’s child’s play.