Birdshooting Season

By Olive Senior
Birdshooting season the men

Make marriages with their guns

My father’s house turns macho

As from far the hunters gathers

All night long content less women

Stir their brews: hot coffee

Chocolate, cerassie

Wrap pone and tie-leaf

For tomorrow’s sport. Tonight

The men drink rum neat.

In the darkness shouldering

Their packs, their guns they leave

We stand quietly on the

Doorsteps shivering. Little boys

Longing to grow up bird hunters too

Little girls whispering:

Fly Birds Fly