finches and jays
sparrows and starlings
woodpeckers and
flickers
stop in my garden
to dine upon the humble
offerings
of sunflower seed, millet
and suet
a flock of collared doves
(stupid pigeons, we
call them…
loud, awkward and
scatter-brained)
pecks at corn scattered
under the maple tree
and the woodland hawks
sail in to dine upon
the diners
fierce and arrogant
determined and efficient
sleek and agile
of all the birds in my garden
I admire them most
one misty morning
a twisting cyclone of
feathers
tumbles over my shoulder
and hits the ground
feet from where I stand
cooper’s hawk, stupid pigeon
in the ancient dance
of predator and prey
“pigeon!” I cry
the hawk, startled
loses its grip
dove flails off to a
nearby bush
hawk gives desultory
chase
breaks off and sails
to a bare tree
stares at me balefully
why could you not
leave me to my
breakfast?
it seems to say
guilty, I reply
I’m sorry…
but my first instinct
is to root for the
pigeon
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