8-12 Of All Backyards

Perhaps an allegory of sorts

Of All Backyards


In a suburb, no less

a red-tailed hawk impaled

Jay on a branch splotched with lichen.


Talons are a space-time curvature, a singularity

in Jay’s event horizon, squeezing a final squawk

into nothingness.


Backyard bully of sparrows and cardinals,

Jay’s bill opens

as the beak plunges in bliss and


plucked feathers hang

in fierce heat, even at mid-morning.


Below on an old dog dish

a female Cardinal sips a drink


and eyes Jay disappearing.


Her grievance gorged,


she flits into a blue spruce.


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