Poem Hunter
Who Did My Hat Fit?
BB ( / Arlington, VA, USA)

Who Did My Hat Fit?

Poem By Binta Bundu

The whole world knows them as the "Hunters,." Hunting only special preys "The Rich
and Famous." Their destructive and dangerous weapons are "a pen, piece of paper, and the thunder
lightening like cameras." More dreadful than an A.K. 47 gun. My hands were always tied, my mouth was always padlocked, but I always wept bitterly
for I knew the "Hunters" would chase a prey to zero. Diana please rest in peace. With their Rocket launchers - Radios, Televisions, and Newspapers. They would even
chase a pregnant prey into the delivery room. What a job? This 20th Century, the "Hunters" have a special handicap prey, "Bill Clinton." They had chased him from Little Rock, Arkansas to the Nation's capital where the
trainers of the "Hunters" were waiting for him. Poor Bill Clinton running like a condemned D.H.9 plane for nothing. For the hunters and
their trainers would never miss their prey. His flesh they would eat in the morning, afternoon, evening, 24 hours a day, 7 days
a week, 4 weeks a month, 12 months a year, and throughout, would eat again. Dear hunters and your trainers; aren't you tired or regurgitating and eating the one and
only Bill Clinton? But, please don't chase me into hiding cause I weigh 250 pounds and I live a quiet life
in the United States of America.

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