Hunting Season
hunting season
Every Saturdays and Sunday there is a war going on in the woods,
man against birds and rabbits. On my lemon tree sparrows and
hawks sit and wait for Monday. In my garden rabbits seek shelter
from shoot gun pellets, eat my flowers and dig holes. My dog is
desperate its instinct is to go out and kill them. Killing for sport, is
like bullfighting without spectators, grown men, sneaking about
amongst trees slaughtering the innocent; not unlike the Settlers
behaviour against the Palestinian olive pickers and goat herders.
Monday morning I shovel wheel barrow’s full of bird droppings
from the ground that is also full of holes. Something got to be done
with these awful animals, why do they not move to neighbouring
woods and seek shelter there?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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