Gang

In my day we didn’t carry knives.
We had air rifles and catapults
and pursued whatever hopped
or swam or flew. 

‘Cruel’ wasn’t a word we knew
when we ended wildlife’s lives.
We were what we were.
We traipsed over fields.

Followed streams. Hunted
harmless animals for fun.
Doing what country boys do.
Or did.

I’d hope things have changed.
I’d certainly not let any kid
of mine near a catapult
or gun.

I must have been
about twelve or thirteen
when my conscience
kicked in.

I destroyed the catapult.
Got rid of the gun. Eventually
I forgave myself
for all the bad that boy had done.