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
laser-like precision
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.