Mongoose Hunt

You should have heard the steaming riot Of the village carnival The beating pans, the conversing griot And the boys bright bacchanal You do not know what relief the moment give To a village's quiet life, the hope For a hero's incentive to any who ends its life What will be saved? A chicken's Lost told by the wild hen house clucking A batch of eggs forgotten In the pingwing bush where they laid them, The dogs from boredom The girl brought away from mother's watch In the pandemonium to meet The boy whose body is laden with tropic heat So much of destiny and joy Is played out from the intentions to destroy The mad mongoose who dared The quiet Sunday afternoon to stroll For food, and lambs bleat in the fold.