Big-Game Hunter
His red cheeks were swollen
like ripe tomatoes;
His lips were strangers
to lightness and laughter.
He had keen blue eyes
and a crooked nose,
Smoke on his breath,
and a small bristly mustache.Â
His stout frame was clad
in stainless white,
And a pith-helm was perched
on his depilated pate.
His hairy arms
bore heavy hands,
Grasping and hard,
with grimy nails;
The soles of his feet
wore seven-league boots,
Scoured by the sand
of seasons of slaughter.
He toted a rifle
with two blue barrels,
With a steely lock
and a stock of ebony.
A fine cord encircled
his fat greasy neck,
And a single brass bullet
was strung upon it.
Furred, finned, and feathered
alike fled from him;
A fiend was he
to all four-footed creatures.
At the stamp of his feet,
they startled and hid;
When he raised his gun,
they ran and perished.