Natural Raptor History (13 Things I Do Not Write About #8)

Birds, dude, birds.
Carnivores, their branch named
raptors, predatory, like high school
skeezes after freshman cheerleaders,
beaks chirping a murderous preemptive
dirge.  Captured, tailored to molting, flung,
regurgitated, worms, claws, talons
climbing the sky,
diving to a rodent’s demise,
plumage, ecological origins
forming through wings spreading and
treading hungry beaks, blood thirsty,
dwelling during that term “crepuscular”
both dusk and dawn, gulping through
a hawk’s eyes, eagles, owls, falcons,
dancing in clouds, eyes wide, hunting,
woodland creatures squirming, blending
in with the earth’s hues, camouflage,
hoping to be clever, to not get severed
and tethered and crunched until all
little breaths are concluded from little
Heightened, lurching, perches
above, white gook splattering through my
hair. These things, these
damn things, waking me up in the morning,
for one reason or other, they caw,
and sometimes it really makes me want to
own a bee bee gun,
other times, it’s
like precisely what
my being needs to hear
at the ass-crack of dawn.
birds, so miraculous that those
guys can fly. And then we put
them in cages. We catch the
most fantasized ability, flight,
we catch it,
and we put little
wood chips beneath it,
give it a little birdy
swing, and hope to
remember to not let it out
of the cage when the cat’s
also in the room. Like what
happened with my brother’s parakeet,
Brian Fellows, and our cat, Black
Sabbath. Twenty minutes alone,
and my brother found the savage
scene. And almost killed
the cat.
Attacking, violence, nourishment,
pain, hiding, chasing,
maximum natural anxiety making creatures
distrust and scurry through dirt and plants
praying to not look prey.



This poem is about birds.  Honestly it was a very randomly selected topic for one of my 13 things.  I researched and took some notes on Natural Raptor History for about an hour, and then free wrote and out pooped this poem.  I like that it took me to the story of how my brother’s bird got eaten by our cat.  That surprise association dug more into some deeper themes of attacking other creatures, and for reasons of nourishment or for reasons of fear/anger.  Also the notion of caging a creature who can fly is so absurd, and I’m not like with PETA or anything (I’ve had pet birds), but that’s like the most cruel form of domesticating an animal when you think about it.

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