Poetry

Sighting

Andrew Lansdown

 

On visiting the Bull Ranges with a traditional landowner

Pluck out the detecting eye,
break off the pointing finger,
shut up the exclaiming cry—
if only somehow I could!

 
But it’s too late to stifle
myself now or stop my friend,
who snatches up his rifle
and follows swiftly after

the wallabies I sighted,
the small wild rock wallabies
whose survival I blighted
simply because I saw them

and cried aloud, delighted.