AS A TENANT ON OUR LAND 

I turned a blind eye to shoots. And hunts.

I practiced tolerance uneasily –

letting die to let live.

I stayed inside on days the landlord

entertained his friends and

when he rode across

as master of the hounds.

I managed to ignore

the ammunition-belted waterfowlers,

idiotically dressed in camouflage,

crouching under hides,

tooting those whistles they sell

to imitate ducks and call them in

to ponds at dusk. I found it all

ridiculous; I almost laughed.

But when I heard of a plan

to use feed as a lure then

come in force to enjoy the sport,

as the birds dropped down to eat,

I tried to draw a line.

I told the gun-cradling blokes

to leave. Fuck Off! I screamed.

And then they laughed at me,

pointing to the high-pitched,

screeching woman – so far

out of her depth in a man’s world.

Clear evidence her mind was unsound.

And wouldn’t insanity

be grounds for eviction?

Katharine Banner