Heroic hunter, ever mighty,
You shift and sway as you silently stand,
  A semi-static statue, waiting,
      Swagger inflating,
        Constantly hating,
Nerves frayed and frazzled, fierce fingers flighty,
  Rifle held hard in your hand.

“A hero's wreath for posterity,”
You think to yourself as you raise your gun,
  Keeping the wolf away from the door,
      Not fearing his roar,
        His bone-crunching jaw.
You think of yourself as a deity,
  Each battle or brawl, you’ve won.

A monster moves within the forest,
A shadow slowly slinks, it haunts the trees.
  You glance along your gun’s glist’ning sight,
      Your anger burns bright,
        Your god-given right
Is to send it to its warranted rest.
  The smell of Death’s in the breeze.

You see the monster and quickly shoot,
(A mem'ry: Hiroshima, Auschwitz too,
  Jack the Ripper, Belfast, and My Lai,)
      This horror at bay:
        A rabbit, you slay,
(You kill and you rape, you pillage and loot,)
  The demon lies within you.

                                          1974