Poem Hunter
Hawk On The Roof
JMZ (1963 / London, England)

Hawk On The Roof

You were dangling from the sky
Until the string snapped
And you plunged beak first
Into your dinner.

You were plucking dormant doves
From beneath the eaves
And answering a timeless question
Of survival.

Why cook when there's a take-away close by?

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Comments (2)

Thanks for the elevated opinion, Todd, but it's just me being cynical. Hawks (or this one, anyway) only eat the heads of their victims, leaving yours truly to clean up the little corpses before the dogs get to them. Oh for life in the country.
Could this also be a question of nature versus nuture? (see Claude Levi-Strauss's 'The Raw and Cooked'...... Such pedantry aside, this poem evokes in me a feeling of mystery or the uncanny that I sometimes get when I contemplate nautre. Thanks for sharing.