Image downloaded from Internet.
Remember Walter Palmer, the dentist who shot Cecil, the lion lured out of a game park in Tanzania in 2015? This is a poem I wrote and dedicated to him at the time. I was wondering how he is doing now and if he ever had the nerve to mount Cecil’s head in his trophy room, so checked up on him again via the link above. I dedicate this poem again to him and to all who profit from the spilling of blood in sport, be it war games or other blood sport.
In the Blood!!!
(Dedicated to Walter Palmer)
Don’t you just love football—the running and the tackling?
The sounds of hamstrings pulling and the crunch of femurs crackling?
We sit up in the bleachers eating hot dogs, drinking beer,
comfortably viewing blood sport—the kind we hold so dear.
Aren’t dogfights lovely–the growling and the whining?
Too bad they aren’t more elite, so we could watch while dining.
So amusing watching canines being dished their due.
Dying is so entertaining when it isn’t you!
Better still are bullfights, though they’re few and far between.
The bull so lithe and dangerous, the matador so lean.
The best part of the sport is that the dying is so slow.
I feel its thrill suffuse me from my head down to my toe.
We adore big game hunting in such exotic lands–
our chance to prove our manliness with our own two hands–
handing over money to those trackers in the know
who guarantee an easy kill with rifle or with bow.
Easy on the hunter, but not the animal,
for just because he’s hit the prey’s not guaranteed to fall.
We get more for our money if he’s hard to track,
and war games are more pleasant when one’s foe doesn’t shoot back!
All these minor titillations just a prelude to
the main event and the most major way of counting coup.
Once all the good old boys are finding life is just a bore,
they round up all the younger men and send them off to war.
See how the valiant struggle, see their stripes and purple hearts–
apt pay for missing arms and legs and other blown off parts.
Lucky to be home at last and lucky to be living–
the products of that blood sport that just somehow keeps on giving.
The Daily Addictions prompt for today is dedicate.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
I’m basically with you on this one. I know sometimes creatures have to be killed for population control — and because people intend to eat the meat — but he’s hardly going to eat that lion? This is a staged sport, as you say.
There’s a new book about the permanent damage bashing and frequent concussions do to the human brain over time, written by a doctor/coroner. His findings have not been well received by the NFL or football fans, needless to say, but TRUTH Deosn’t Have A Side has been well researched, well written.
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Our “modern” form of sacrifice that is right in line with thousands of years of the same. I know that nature is built on one thing consuming another, but glory gained through climbing a tree and waiting for a lion to take the bait so you can shoot it is not even sport! And as for boxing and football…history itself is testimony to the truth of the book you mention. Crazy.
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Poignant. I’ve never understood the need to demonstrate prowess by shedding blood.
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Agreed.
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Very powerful!
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A needless death is a tragic death- and that doesn’t apply to humans.
Thank you for writing this.
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I know. Ridiculous that these egos have to be pumped up by token kills.
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Poor Cecil and Trump junior is a big game hunter.
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That figures.
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aahhhhh, makes me so so sad 😦
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Sorry..Sad is no way to start the day.
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I remember feeling enraged when I first heard of this tragic incident, and your poem brought it back. What did the poor majestic great cat do to this arrogant idiot!
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