Wild life and golf not really conducive to one another

A little mob of  Kangaroo’s

Were beaten up it seems

on a golf Course

near Melbourne

One of those bad  dreams

Did  they use an iron or wood

there were car tyre marks they left

a vital  clue if you ask me

But then  again bereft

of any cogent theory

shooters tend to be

Working for a farmer

Or  perhaps an Authority

chopping  Joeys heads off

Is what these blighters  do

this was a innocent baby

But these  shits  are clueless too

butchers of our wild life

torturers they  be

Practising  their  golf swings

with buttock – clenching glee

A creature of  perfection

murdered in cold blood

her baby torn from out of  her pouch

and murdered in a flood

Of flying  boots
and swinging irons

and just left there to rot

mangled spoiled and  sinister

creating a blot

of ill will

and mischief making

Of  torment and  outrage

of unkindness and of spitefulness

thats completely off the page

habitat loss is essentially

a lack of understanding

challenging the obvious

and belligerently  demanding

the wild folk to be gone

from where they had been  placed

dining on wild grasses

approached it seems and chased

highly competitive golfers

left their brains at home

their  hearts had withered long before

These gallant men do roam

the bush lands of eternity

Defensive  to be sure

looking for a  tussle

some combat or a war

and a little mob of angels

Are targets  to be sure

Nobody is  watching

as we wage our war

the outcome will be carnage

and chauvinistic pride

the line of least  resistance

where Kangaroos can’t  hide

Heritage avenue Melbourne  East

the dogs there were impounded

every one of the wild beasts

clearly they lay  grounded

meeting their adversity

the ominous the cold

golfers are an arrogant bunch

intolerant I am told

bludgeoning my favourites

their compulsion tragically

their pitilessness and rigidity

and criminality.