12 August 2007

Book III: Robin

He stands.

Puffy
Red
Proud.

He gazes from the boulevard
Out at the street
Nonchalantly
Through deep black eyes
Set in matte black feathers.

He is the hunter.

He engages in reconnaissance
And moves in for the capture

In one

Fell

Swoop.

The earthworm
Slow
Defenceless
Delicious
Is the prize
Like a trophy
In his beak.

He stands nonchalantly
But he is boasting.
He is showing off
His kill
His chest
His head
His pride.

Males will do
What they must do
For little blue eggs
Little children
Not ready
To empty the nest.

He has done
What he must do.

He will sing of this
When his beak is not full
But for now
He knows

He is the hunter
The provider

The little renegade
With the big heart


And he will stand
And pose
So we all know
What he is

In the anarchy
Of suburbia.

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