The joy of hunting
Who’d waste a bullet to drag that dolour down
A dark room in some random city
In the middle of nowhere
There lives a man
(Just living, not alive)
Surely he lives there
’cause no one has bothered to kill him …yet!
The monotonous chore of life
As long as he can remember
Has made him dark
In and out.
Thank god –
(Or rather not)
For he was educated beyond his intelligence.
Now in the darkness
Somehow,
he manages to drag through his daily chore.
What a pity!
I met him yesterday
Such a resentful man he is –
Complains about every single way he has been treated
(and has not been treated)
Every other thing he ever experienced
(and he never experienced)
In this middle of nowhere!
I’d never want to see such a miserable person again.
I had a gun
(But who’d waste a bullet to drag that dolour down)
On my way to hunting –
Ah, what a joy it was.
Republished in April 2021