Hunting Is Sacred

You go to the supermarket.
You go there by bus.
The bus goes where the driver drives it.
He drives it where he must.

You go to the supermarket, you reach for the plastic basket.
You didn't bring it with you, they keep it there for you.
You walk in - the lights, the shelves, all the stuff
put there by others, arranged for you.

You buy the fruit - grown, harvested, wrapped, delivered for you.
You put it in the basket - it's all you have to do.
You walk to the counter and pay with money
printed by the state, distributed by an unknown force and given to you by someone else.
As you leave, the door opens, closes and opens again for someone else.

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Hunting is sacred. We used to fight for life -
now we barely notice that we're here.
It all happened when we traded
bravery for safety,
adventure for comfort,
fire for iphones,
our visions for TV,
our rituals for triviality.

We don't dance anymore, we convulse.
We don't dream anymore, we consume.
We don't create anymore, we buy and discard and buy again.

We don't hunt anymore.
We go to supermarkets.
We shop for oursleves.