Goose Chase (Poetry)

Beside the grey-glass edges of the pond,
concealed by reeds and carefully downwind
of unsuspecting birds afloat beyond
the reach of predators, he crouches low,
creeps warily along, his keen eyes skinned
for movement - any sign his quarry know

that he is closing in. A cloud of breath
flags each fresh hiding place, a ragged trail
of vapour in his wake - a streamer left
dissolving in the winter-woven air.
So stealthy his approach, the snow geese fail
to notice how he stalks them, unaware

that someone watches, camouflaged, quite near.
A twig cracks, gunshot loud, and feathers burst,
exploding - a cacophony of fear
and indignation rising as they fly.
He grabs his Nikon, uttering a curse,
and shoots the drama cold against the sky.