One day the hunters will get their come uppence it might take a long time but it will happen

“Hunting with the judge”
emblazoned on his shirt
and a lioness and him
as one with the dirt

a blue sky above
some dry golden scrub
and a bow by his side
and here comes the rub

the lioness is dead
her eyes lost for sure
sprawled in a heap
a victim of war?

no! just a hunter
the scarier souls
behind that crossbow
he acts out the roles

this wild soul
despatched to the place
we all know
the final place
where all of us go

these profile pictures
bring tears to my eyes
bold these sad people
they don’t realise

the price all are paying
for their bit of fun
their selfish reason
out in the sun

a dusty old photo
in some dusty tome
that nobody looks at
in the retirement home

no one remembers
the bold hunter who
can’t find his penis
or tie up his shoe

but everyone seeing the
lion cold stone dead
has that poor soul
still running around
in their head