And they stand

And they stand

Thigh deep in the flow,

Weathered in waders.

Sporting caps

With badges and hooks

Covered in cleverly crafted lures

So much more than decoration

Even the flies look a little confused

By the realism

I wonder if hunters

Sew on their buttons

Darn their socks

Make a dinner or two

While doing the ironing

And laundry.

Perhaps they do,

Wedged between the day job

And the golf club,

Driving a fast car

With no hybrid solution.

Do they still wear driving gloves?

Would they wait

For a tortoise to cross the road,

Be pleased to see a lover

Waiting on a station platform

Dressed to the nines

As if their happiness depended

Upon a first impression.

The first kiss

Is always the one

To welcome you home

No matter how long the journey.

Do they know

How lucky they are

The privileged few

With a licence to roam

From the fens to the glens

Gathering trophies

For pleasure.

Bloodsport

As a life lesson,

When killing your prey

Is not a matter of chance

But an expectation.