and they call this SPORT!
in fearful flight
from the shooters hidden
in the nearby riverbank reeds
wiser ducks have flapped their way
into the safety of my garden.
Twelve I managed to count
before my mud packed face at the kitchen window
sent them scuttling away through a hedge gap.
But in the distance,I can still hear the killing sounds continuing
shooting away for all they are (not) worth
bringing down unfortunate birds that try to ascend.
The poor creatures not built for a speedy getaway
are more than easy targets
and in the early twilight, a Range Rover convoy
passes me by out dog walking
their parcel shelves adorned with feathery corpses
no doubt destined for the cooking pots and ovens
of the insensitive.