2014 #206

got a thing that stars hawks on break
and they convene
high in a tree and they talk
like fable characters are expected
to talk, talking like people

except they don’t feel like real raptors.
Not that I’ve ever felt many real raptors.
Can’t say why. Crow. Buzzard.
I can see a crow talking to another
crow; buzzard nodding his new crew

cut and casting cursorily
an eye to the distant road
as another buzzard
wraps up another bunny tale.
Can’t see why the hawks are fuzzy.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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