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. 

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.