In the Wild
‘Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing’
W B Yeats
Not every day you’ll see one, close up, hunting.
See it leap & try to slice
through prey with those toe-grown foot-longs.
See its hooked beak on that strange
& owl-like face, the blue & tan feathers
on its almost useless wings. They hunt like chickens.
Not timidly, as how we once upon a time
But like the chicken of the long-lost jungle, talons foremost.
It’ll cut that duck-billed rat to pieces
quick as sunbeams, switch a claw to slice its fat tail
through, halt its running.
But how odd. See how it’s stopped, caught itself
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