I am a nasty hunter’s gun
I’ve blown some prey to bits
morality is not my thing – I
gather tusks and flit. Rangers
they can’t find me here, I hide
behind a bush, and now I press
a trigger for some elephantine
tusks. I don’t care for morality, it
isn’t quite my thing, and mankind
killed in ancient times, and slew
by using slings. Now monarchs of a
Bundu, writhe, converting into dust.
But I don’t care to carry guilt, I kill
not out of lust, but to feed a growing
family in a Third world wilderness.