MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

Man, The Man-Hunter

I SAW Man, the man-hunter,
Hunting with a torch in one hand
And a kerosene can in the other,
Hunting with guns, ropes, shackles.

I listened
And the high cry rang,
The high cry of Man, the man-hunter:
We'll get you yet, you sbxyzch!

I listened later.
The high cry rang:
Kill him! kill him! the sbxyzch!

In the morning the sun saw
Two butts of something, a smoking rump,
And a warning in charred wood:

Well, we got him,
the sbxyzch.

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Comments (2)

Wow! I loved it! You really expressed a lot in that poem. I felt like I was shopping myself! :) -Lauren xoxoxoxox
And so we dream of what may be! Wrapped in tissue happiness is such a lovely thought!