Hot pink feet
tuck into feathered undercarriages.
With a wind-up toy whirr
topknots take off —
fly missile straight
into Father’s scattershot.
Freefall
thump of the plump
dangle headed bodies plucked
woodstove roasted.
We spat lead pellets
Ping! Ting! onto side plates
wreathed with painted violets.
Now
he broadcasts seed.
Calls them in
Whoop! Whoop!
Whoop! Whoop!
I hear them talking —
the hunter and the hunted
together in the garden.
Coral Carter (Western Australia)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
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