Chance Encounter Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

As he settled his huge frame
under the white-thorn
he punched two holes in his beer can
with his thumb. Froth
clung to his beard, dark
amber drool running down his chin.

The sand stretched before
him like the Garden
of Eden after the Fall:
only the thorn tree, desert, and setting
sun climbing laboriously down
the steep slope of the sky.

Near the dune where dark
and light were split he saw
a young kudu turn
its head to stare. The bullet
slit the air and tore
through the shocked socket
of a staring eye.

Before he fetched his kill
he settled his huge frame again
under the white-thorn and drank his beer.