Jonathan Kerridge-Phipps
Pastoral

His bed had barely been slept on,
though his wife, for the record, said
he often sat up late instead.

The gate at the end of the path,
(gravel freshly trod) was unlatched
and swinging clear, free of its catch.

His lack of fastidiousness,
one bewildered neighbour mused,
explained this. But they were confused

that his gun, swung free of the hook
where it hung in the corner nook
of the potting shed, was taken

as such a noteworthy detail ­
he was often heard, when disturbed, g
oing out before the milk and mail

to hunt, generally returning
before nightfall. But not this time.