Must love guns
And bullets and ballistics
Projectiles exploding out of barrels
Travelling at an invisible speed
Streaking towards a target
Doesn’t see it coming
Although it’s only passing through
Not so bad if it’s inanimate
Bullseye target, aim for the red spot
No real bull, of any kind
No buffalo, no elephant
But when an animal is the eye
The centre of the sights
Indeed the projectile will punch a hole
Tearing through the flesh
Smashing bone
Not compatible with life
Must love hunting
Pseudonym for killing
Taking a life warms the heart
A wife squeals in glee
As an elephant groans in pathos
Its life ebbs away, pathetically
Could be another woman
And a newly dead giraffe
Still it’s mostly the usual suspects
Men with guns, misnamed hunters
What species is this, elsewhere explored
That takes such delight
In taking a majestic life
Whereas others would cry
At such waste of the wanton
Must love inflicting pain
Seeing an animal in the distance fall
Not so many clean shots
Not so many instant kills
Doesn’t kill the thrills though
Must love never showing empathy
Definitely not feeling it
Or compassion or kinship with living things
No theory of mind
No kindness because it doesn’t kill
Must believe the lie
Of killing for conservation
Taking a life for money, to preserve life
Mental contortions, gymnastics of belief
To accomodate oxymorons of the mind
For the normal mind not axiomatic
Just flagrantly obvious
This is a different species, newly classified
And its scientifically defiant name?
Homo Mortis
We can only look forward to the day
Turn the guns on their own mentality
Target their own anachronistic thinking
‘Let’s go hunting lying tales instead’
A more worthy prey
Leave lions alone, and wolves
In fact any innocent animal in a sight
That’s it, more a tale about one species
Everything that they are
All their distinguishing traits
Are not like the other species
Missing from this story
(But soon to be added in #tectonictonic)
The rest of us
A.E. Lovell
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