The view from my desk includes the sprawling arms of a very old olive tree. Soon after we moved in and I was peacefully tapping away on my keyboard, I heard a frantic rustling of feather and looked up quickly enough to spot two formerly billing-and-cooing mourning doves scram out of site while a Cooper’s hawk took their place on the branch. The accidental metaphors of hawks, doves and olive branch weren’t lost on me and I wrote this lil poem. For the record, I really like actual hawks. Their ideological namesakes, not so much.
there’s a hawk in the olive tree
he scared away the doves
looking for a tasty treat
swiveling his head this way. and that way.
sweet bird song suddenly stilled,
waiting for sudden death to move on.
the mourning doves may sound sad
but i prefer them to your deadly vision
shattering the beautiful day.
still you hold my attention
so focused, so lethal, lovely in your power
though the peace you bring is tense and short-lived
the happy chatter of the day scared silent
until you’re satisfied you can cause no more destruction here
and move on to your next target.