My First Shot

I pick up the rifle, smooth feeling in hand,
shots ring around me, rhythm like a band,
my finger feels the trigger, itching to tug
but safety comes first, in go the earplugs.

I slow my heart rate, cheek on the stock,
Compensation is key, so says the windsock.
My scope is set, my mind is clear.
I slide the bolt into place, just below my ear.

Crosshairs on the paper, now is the time,
I focus on the dot down range, as big as a dime.
At one hundred long metres, I take the sharp shot,
The rifle jumps up, just like an ocelot.

Eye on the target, you have to follow through.
Lead hits paper, splitting it in two,
I slide the bolt back, fiery casing shoots out,
I smell the gunpowder, I hit without a doubt.