White Hunter
I dreamed I was a safari hunter
In 1952 in Ethiopia.
When I was the pampered son
Of an Imperial Director.
I went from Amhara land
To those dry plains of the Gala,
And there, on the back of a van
I stood with a rifle.
First into a screaming flock of Guineas
For our evening meal,
And then to the leaping Impala
Full of life and beauty.
A shot!
One ran after the others with
Three legs whole …and one gone.
And so again!
At last the truck could stop
The dust could blow away
And the once citizen of the plains
Could lie,broken and still.
She gave me a gift that day.
As I looked into her brown dead eye
There was one less to fear or pay,
For I was never to hunt again.
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