I Shot a Wombat

On Friday I shot a wombat
Blind, furless with mange
An ugly brown, far from lovely black
Appearing not at night, his zone
But in mine, when I was able to act

He sat still, willing the end
A single shot (I am pleased I had practiced)
My wound was small and perfect
He had two ugly, older wounds,
Caused by life, now maggoty

So light, not the heaviness a wombat should be
Maybe 25 kilos, a non-wombat,
Placed it on a burn pile
He will have gone to night
Back to blackness, weight, perfection

But where was God, with his gun?
Such meaningless and ugly pain
Without hope, until me (a petty god)
Fortunately there, fortunately armed

And here, and this idea emerges
Deep out of the meditation, I wonder
Am I so far from that wombat.

I Shot a Wombat

Pilgrim

Emerald, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 14

Artist's Description

Poem about life, god, cruelty

Artwork Comments

  • Scott Robinson
  • Whirligig
  • kseriphyn
  • jetsta42
  • georgiegirl
  • Shanina Conway
  • AnnH
  • Melinda Kerr
  • Adrian Rachele
  • Pilgrim
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