Saturday 21 November 2015

Poem: A Black Hunter

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Read Poem: A Black Hunter

What bush meat I’ve not eaten?
Tiger, hare, deer or python
or squirrel, alligator, snail; my dad
was a good hunter
not with gun but with
snares
Oh my God!
Now that he’s late

I’ve began to hunt my meats
in bushes beneath the skirts.
May his warrior soul, rest in peace.



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