Bird of Prey
Feb 17 2010


Watch out for the eagle
she says —
pet rabbits, small dogs,
someone’s kid’ll be next.

This suburban bird of prey
looks down on our neighbourhood
from his aerie in a tall dead tree,
familiarity rendering him that much less majestic
than his wilder cousins —
the easy pickings,
the white feathers, sullied
by muddy puddles in the cul-de-sac.

He is an opportunist, a scavenger,
his noble head and piercing eyes
contemptuous of the human traffic
scuttling by
at ground level,
walking with their heads down.

His flight is long slow glides,
banking skilfully
powerful wings flexing once in awhile
— like the muscular shrug
of a heavy-weight fighter.
With lethal talons, tucked inside
ready to unleash.
But he avoids a fight
will take carrion, garbage
kills only to eat.

I have seen an eagle misjudge,
latching onto a fish too heavy to lift,
his great curved claws
inextricably caught,
the massive bird pulled under.
So he calculates time and trajectory and weight,
is still magnificent
despite the mess of civilization
the easy prey.

He is protected by law
from poison trap or shot.
It’s the crows who are merciless,
who harass and mass and squawk
until he drops his prize,
chasing him off
with the force of numbers.
Black beady-eyed wiseguys,
the small-time hoodlums
of suburbia.

The regal bird retreats to his perch,
his wounded pride
inscrutable.
Where he sits with unnerving stillness;
watching, waiting
eagle-eyed.