Hunt With A Porous Net Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Cast the net
of a swapping
muzzle

catching only
alabaster air,
as small birds
fly off,

whisking
air-blended tails.

Fisherman
of moss
and seafoam
grasses,

spin your rifle
to grab
with hooked claws
a fat bird
riding a bicycle,

as it flees
trotting
and galloping.

Scoop out
a bird
shifting
its ladder of legs

to slip off
into an arrow's
trajectory,

more grasses
stooping
woven
into creeping,

weeds
raising heads
like herons,

these dry pinnate
leaves from
thin stems sticking
out long necks.

(ii)

He went out
hunting
for cranes,

but only
pulled out a tall-
legged shrub

dangling
in a paced gale.

O fish out
a crane from
flying grasses
sitting
on their roots.

Rake the bushes
with prodding
eyes to point trigger
at sharp
cutting angle,

when rifle floats
in the wings
of a strong winds.

Catch the ground-
touching branches,
long-necked
vines sticking out
bird heads,

only feathers
of dry leaves flying
off to land
on the heads
of crawling shrubs.

Catch tilting
beaked heads
rising, rising
with wind from bushes

only to whisk
grassy tails of fleeing
weeds hanging
in the air
with stretchy tails.

(iii)

And after
a burning hunting
afternoon
in interwoven winds

has fished out
no crane
for his raffia bag.

But he's drunk
with the hue
and wings
of smaller birds,

poking feathers
at him,

as he stretches out
in his bed,
bawling out
he's caught

a hummingbird's
buzz and whirr
turning out to be
a wide-winged roach.