Boy With A Catapult Poem by Gert Strydom

I remember how my brother Japie one afternoon did dare me
at the dairy to take out of the air
a speckled rock pigeon with my catapult,
as if I did not really know how to shoot with a catapult.
It was near to lunchtime and the sky was open and blue,
the sun had been hot and white
and I aimed and pulled back the elastic bands
the round river stone buzzed away
and high above us I saw blood and feathers scatter
how the bird from its flight did fall to below
where head over tail it tumbled down and if felt like a eternity
and in my throat and heart it jerked, as I did know that it was dead,
a piccaninny did jog up to me with the bird in his hand
which I gave to him for his lunch