The Hawk
Imperious—on high—almost a dot
plummets in a freefall—like a gunshot
focused—fixed and resolute
homing in—an Exocet—astute–
doesn’t waiver—zooms in at a hundred plus,
with precision-an arrow straight and true
A dive-a drop from cloudy heights
Plumage sleeked back-its hue,
brown/grey to conceal from unsuspecting prey
The prey-camouflaged-amidst the wire-it thinks:
Cowers in awe-in trepidation-slinks–in dread
at its impending doom-petrified-frozen to the spot
turned to stone—and not—wanting to move—presents itself:
A shrill piercing cry—a salutation from a monarch of the sky:
Impact—swift—incisive—a flurry of feathers–Rip—and Slash:
Then stillness—surveys the scene—and begins to pluck-to tug and preen—then gone—its prey grasped by its talons—hooked around its lifeless form.
Written by an old compound man – a veteran of most of them in fact – the inspiration for this short piece came from the many hours spent by he and a number of prisoners watching the bird of prey. No one can be sure if in fact it was the same bird all the time but when the shout echoed through the huts – ‘The Hawk’s Up’ – there was a dash to the wire to see this wonderful act of nature unfold.
