Hunting Party Poem by Gert Strydom

I walk with a guide
(that’s what they call
a tracker now days)

and leave on soft red brown sand
number nine boot tracks
(somewhere between
Potgietersrus and Ellisras)

and there are two other hunters
walking along
each carrying his own
point three seven five,
the guide has an old
ELG twelve bore shotgun

and with my Sony Cyber Shot
every thing is enhanced
more than ten times
and before any shots ring out
there are wild bucks
falling under my scope.